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HE AUTHOR OF ORANBY 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

. . -■ ■ ■ - '■ /< £b 


■..a morale est la science des sciences a ne la couslderer que 
s le rapport du calcul; et il y a toujours des limites i I’esprit 
■ieux qui n'ont pas senti rharmonie de la nature des clioses 
c !es devoii's de I’homme. 

Madame De Staee. 


VOL. T. 

* 9 

* * 

» 


PHILADELPHIA: 

CAREY, LEA & CAREY CIIESNUT STREET. 

D IN new YORK, BY G. & C. CARVILL, — IN BOSTON, BY 
HILLIARD, GRAY, & CO., AND RICHARDSON & LORD. 


1828. 



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TO 

THOMAS LISTER, ESQ. 

OP 

ARMITAGE PARK, 

St a ffordshire. 


To no one can I dedicate the following 
work with more propriety than to yourself, 
and to none certainly with greater pleasure. 
Whatever may be my attachment to litera- 
ry pursuits, I consider myself as owing it en- 
tirely to the kindness and assiduity with 
which, from my earliest years, you have di- 
rected my attention to the cultivation of ele- 
gant letters. If I have fallen short of attain- 
ing the excellence which your parental 
partiality might lead you to hope, I must 
attribute my deficiency to any cause, rather 
than to the want of your encouragement 
and assistance. It is an additional source 
of satisfaction to me in making to you the 
offering of this little work, that it will afford 


iv 


PREFACE. 


some exemplification of filial duties, and 
convey my own sense, however imperfectly, 
of the devotedness and respect which are 
due to the parental character. By no one 
ought this sentiment to be more sincerely 
and deeply felt than by myself: convinced 
as I am, that to those ties of perfect confi- 
dence, friendship, and esteem, which your 
kindness has established between us, I owe 
the principal happiness of my life. With 
the truest gratitude and respect, believe 
me, 

Your very affectionate Son, 

THE AUTHOR. 


HERBERT EACY. 


CHAPTER I. 


I see, lady, the gentleman is not in yoiir books. 

No ; an he were, I would burn my study. 

Much Ado about JSTotJdvg. 

“ Pray, Lady Appleby, did not you say that 
Mr. Lacy was coming here to>day?’^ 

This important question was put to her lady- 
ship one morning about the latter end of July, in 
the drawing-room at Huntley Park (of which Lord 
Appleby was the noble owner,) in the presence of 
a small party, consisting of the lady of Viscount 
Malvern, son of the Earl of Rodborough, Agnes 
Morton, her sister, and two Miss Tyrwhitts, daugh- 
ters of Lord and Lady Appleby. 

The querist was Mrs. Poole, an elderly widow 
of comfortable fortune, brisk, loquacious, and in- 
quisitive; fond of communicating information, and 
eager in collecting it; a skilful match-maker, an 
unrivalled genealogist, and, alas! a frequent cause 
of mischief, though not often a wilful one. She 
was a good-humoured woman, who had lived much 
in the world, who was never dull but when alone, 
and whose society was greatly sought. Mrs. Poole 


6 


HERBERT LACY. 


knew every body, and every body knew Mrs. 
Poole. She became a widow at an early age, had 
no children, and few concerns of her own to at- 
tend to, and therefore very naturally took a con- 
siderable interest in those of other people. 

Pray, Lady Appleby,’^ said the above-men- 
tioned lady, ‘^did not you say that Mr. Lacy was 
coming here to-day?’’ 

I dare say I did,” replied Lady Appleby, a 
tedious, speechifying woman; for we do expect 
him; and I hope,” she added, with a gracious bend, 
as if she were addressing the absent person, “ to 
have the pleasure of detaining him some time.” 

Does he come alone?” 

I trust not; for I expect to see him accompa- 
nied by his amusing brother-in-law, Mr. Hart- 
ley.” 

‘^Do tell me something about the Lacys,” said 
Mrs. Poole, turning to Lady Malvern; have 
not seen them this age. Of course you know them 
very well; they are such near neighbours of your 
father. ” 

Lord Rodborough is not such a ver}' near 
neighbour,” replied Lady Malvern, rather drily. 

^‘Lord! my dear, I did not mean your father- 
in-law; I was thinking of your own father’s place 
at Dodswell, which cannot, I should suppose, be 
more than six miles from Lacy Park; and that is 
wdiat I call a pleasant, easy visiting distance. Do 
you see much of them?” 

We never saw any of them before I married 
— I suppose it is much the same now — is it not 
.^gnes?” 

Precisely,” said Miss Morton. 

But how odd that is!” pursued Mrs. Poole; 

and do you never meet them any where?” 

No, never.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


7 


And what is the reason?’’ 

I don’t know,” replied Miss Morton. ^^But 
I believe the fault lies chiefly in themselves. My 
father says that Sir William Lacy thinks none of 
his neighbours worth visiting, I have heard some 
people attribute it less to pride than to indolence: 
I have no right to give any opinion myself.” 

“Oh, as to pride,” said Lady Malvern, “I 
don’t know what should make them proud, unless 
it is always staying at home, and seeing nobody 
better than themselves. I am sure nobody pays 
them much attention; and they aj’e never seen in 
the world, and don’t come to town, and Lord Rod- 
borough does not visit him; and as for her, I re- 
member Lady Rodborough saying to me one day 
last winter, ‘ Louisa,’ ‘who was Lady Lacy?’ and 
I remember I could not tell her: and, by the by, 
who are they, Mrs. Poole?” 

“She was a Bellingham of the Upperville family; 
and as for the Lacys, they, you know, are as old 
as the flood, and very well connected too. Sir 
William Lacy’s mother was Lady Mary Loftus, 
aunt of the mad Lord Loftus, whose wife ran away 
with Sir Clement Packworth, the brother of the 
man who shot Lord Cheadle, husband of the naugh- 
ty Lady Cheadle, whose brother was that Colonel 
Blake, who won so much from poor George Tem- 
pleton, who had just entered his regiment, and 
whose sister made that unhappy low connexion 
which we were lamentiong the other day. Sir 
William Lacy, when I knew him first, was a very 
promising young man; but I hear of late that he 
lias grown quite a mope; I hope the son will not 
take after him.” 

“I hope not,” said Lady Malvern, in a tone 
that contradicted the assertion; “ but I must say 


HERBERT LACY. 


I think he will, if I may judge from what I have 
seen of him.’^ 

Perhaps you have seen a good deal.’’ 

‘‘Oh, no, dear! no; I pretend to know very little 
of him, or he of me, I dare say. We just speak — 
scarcely that. I remember this very spring at 
Almack’s, I was standing talking to Lady Rodbo- 
rough, and he came by; and he spoke en passant 
to Lady Rodborough, and then he stared at me as 
if he hardly knew whether to bow or not; and I 
acknowledged him — and then he bent in a sort of 
way as if he thor.ght he did me a favour, which I 
thought rather ridiculous.” 

“I am sure,” said Lady Appleby, who always 
apologized for those who wanted it, though with 
more benevolence than judgment — “ I am sure 
he could not have known it was you. ” 

“ I believe his eyes are tolerably good. No, 
Lady Appleby, depend upon it, it was mere bad 
manner. I know many people who don’t like 
him. ” 

“Mr. Sackville likes him,” observed Agnes 
Morton. 

“People generally like those,” said Lady Mal- 
vern, “who are under obligations to them.” 

“ Obligations! how? do tell me;” said Miss Tyr- 
whitt to Agnes Morton. “What does he owe to 
Mr. Sackville?” 

“Only his life,” replied Agnes, with a smile. 
“They were in Italy together — Mr. Lacy was near 
being drowned in the Lago Maggiore, and Mr. 
Sackville fortunately saved him.” 

“He is a fine young man,” said Mrs. Poole. 

“Who? Mr. Sackville?” 

“No, my dear, I should not speak of him as a 
young man, though, to be sure, he is not much 


HERBERT LACY. 


9 


more than thirty. I was speaking of Mr. Lacy, 
who is a young man, and a fine young man too.” 

‘^Perhaps he may be,” said Miss Morton; “but 
I feel very much disposed to dislike him. ” 

‘‘Why so?” 

^‘Oh — why — because it is my duty — is it not, 
sister? You must know we hoist the black flag at 
Dodswell, and give no quarter to a Lacy.” 

“ I suppose,” said Mrs. Poole, “you will allow 
him to be good-looking.” 

“I won’t allow him to be good for any thing, if 
I can help it,” replied Miss Morton; “but, perhaps, 
Mrs. Poole, you are not aware that my dislike pro- 
ceeds from true meritorious party-spirit. To tell 
you the truth, I have never seen this, gentleman 
ivhom I am so ready to abuse.” 

“I should have been more surprised at your 
disliking him, if you had seen him;” replied Mrs. 
Poole. 

“It is a pity,” resump.d Miss Morton, laughing, 
“ to waste such compliments upon absent persons. 
Do say something flattering to us. I long to en- 
gage you to be trumpeter.” 

“ Thank you, my dear; but I had rather not, un- 
less I could keep the office to myself, and prevent 
others from praising you too; and that would be 
impossible.” 

“ My dear Mrs. Poole, you overflow with civil 
sayings. You%*e like the fairy-tale girl that talked 
pearls and di!BTionds. I cannot bear this fire my- 
self — I must turn it off upon Mr. Lacy. How long 
have^ou known him?” 

“ Ever since May. I saw him one morning at 
Lady Ashborne’s, talked about him after he was 
gone, and was told he was clever and pleasant, and 
so forth;' and it happened just then that I was look- 
ing about for some new young men to put on my 


10 


HERBERT LACY. 


list, for I always like to know a good many; and 
several lately had married off, and he was just the 
person I wanted ; so I said, ‘ Lady Ashborne, do 
send him to me, and tell him I used to know his 
father, and I must have him go next week to my 
friend Mrs. Chatterley’s little party!’ Somehow 
or other he never came. However, about a week 
afterwards, one night, I forget where Lady Ash- 
borne brought him up to me. I asked him to a 
party, and saw him afterwards several times both 
at my own house and elsewhere.” 

And what was his style of conversation?” 

Merely the style of all the world — he was 
lively, and pleasant and full of chit-chat, and knew 
what was going on, and told one all the accidents, 
and gambling, and elopements, and marriages that 
were to be, or were not to be. ” 

Scandal, in short,” interrupted Lady Malvern. 

Why, to be sure, some people might call it 
scandal — though, I don’t remember that he ever 
spoke particularly ill of any one.” 

Oh, but he must;” pursued Lady Malvern — 
you are only too good-natured, Mrs. Poole, and 
won’t remember any thing unpleasant.” 

‘‘Well — I don’t know — I hope I am — all I can 
say, is, that I found him agreeable.” 

“ Indeed,” said Lady Appleby, “ he is very 
agreeable, and as for scandal I can satisfy you on 
that point: he never told me an Jj^cdote in his 
life, and always expressed himself^bn every oc- 
casion in the most obliging manner possible,” 

Now really, my dear Lady Appleby,” said*Lady 
Malvern, with a provoking smile, “ you are a very 
cruel person: that was the unkindest cut of all. 

‘ Expresses himself on every occasion in the most 
obliging manner possible!’ Quite intolerable, I as^ 
sure you. There is nothing more disagreeable 


HERBERT LACY. 


11 


than to meet with people who never contradict 
you: it is the worst compliment they could pay: 
it seems as if they abstained from opposing one 
out of pure compassion for the weakness of one’s 
understanding. I cannot describe what I have suf- 
fered from those good creatures that are always of 
one’s own opinion.” 

I don’t think,” observed Mrs. Poole, that 
you will find young Lacy that sort of person. I 
should say, he was rather, satirically inclined. 
Some declare, he wrote those lines about three of 
the Almack’s Patronesses, whose titles begin with 
the same letter. ‘ Three ladies in three distant 
counties born’ — I won’t go on — for it is too severe; 
but I hardly believe it is his, for I know he posi- 
tively denies it. He is decidedly guilty of the 
prologue to the Private Theatricals at Norton; and 
you may see some other things of his when you 
next meet Lady Barbara Tempest.” 

‘‘ Thank you, Mrs. Poole,” said Lady Malvern; 
I am sadly in want of a bribe to make me wish 
to meet Lady Barbara; but I am afraid Mr Lacy’s 
lines are hardly sufficient. Heaven defend me 
from going again to that dreadfully clever woman’s 
town parties ! The room smelt of new publications, 
and one meets dingy foreign savctns, and people 
that try to look as if they were prodigious think- 
ers, and talk, by way of light conversation, about 
^ a superior arti^ in the last Review.’ And so this 
Mr. Lacy is arWlly of Lady Barbara? Very well 
— that is quite enough. — If he is literary, I give 
him up — I do abhor a wise young man.” 

Oh, I assure you,” exclaimed Miss Tyrwhitt, 
he is not a wise young man, indeed.” 

‘‘Then pray,” said Agnes, “prove him a fool- 
ish one as quickly as you can, and put the poor 
creature out of his misery.” ^ 


12 


HERBERT LACY. 


No, but he is not foolish either. I only mean, 
he does not talk gravely, and learnedly, and use 
long words, and that sort of thing; but talks — -just 
all about any thing in the world.’^ 

‘‘ Nonsense, in short’ 

‘‘ Well — yes — perhaps it is.” 

That is conclusive,” said Lady Malvern. 

I can tell you more,” resumed Mrs. Poole, 
which some may think to his advantage. He is 
said to be only too agreeable, and likes to turn 
young ladies’ heads, and then turns away his owm, 
and will have no more to say to them. He is not 
to be fixed — in fact, a dangler — that is what I have 
heard of him.” 

^^Dear! that is odd,” said Lady Appleby. It 
was only the other day I was told that he was en- 
gaged to be married to Miss Hartley, his brother- 
in-law’s sister — was not it so, Augusta? You must 
have heard as well as I.” 

Miss Tyrwhitt did not seem to have a very 
clear recollection, but said, she believed she did 
hear something about his being either engaged or 
going to be. 

To be what?” said Mrs Poole. 

‘^Engaged!” > 

Oh, gohig to he engaged — A very critical 
situation! I believe. Miss Morton, you are the 
only person present that has not seen this gentle- 
man ; what do you think of hi m iLo m our descrip- 
tion?” ^ 


Indeed,” said Miss Morton, I am exces- 
sively puzzled — let me consider — what have you 
made him out to be? Retired, sociable, rude, civil, 
complaisant, satirical, wise, nonsensical, engaged, 
and a dangler. One may perhaps be curious to 
see a person who reconciles these contradictions, 
but, I think, one probably should not like him.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


13 


The subject was then dropped, after each had 
concurred in the reflection, that in in a very short 
time they should be presented with an ample op- 
portunity of forming or re-modelling their various 
opinions of the person in question. 


■9 


VoL. I. S 




H 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER II. 


There are bat three ways for a man to revenge himself of 
the ceiisnre of the world; to despise it, to return the like, or 
to endeavour to live so as to avoid it. The first of these is 
usually pretended : the last is almost impossible ; the univer- 
sal practice is for the second, 

Swift. 

At Lacy Park, a fine old place, situated in one 
of the midland counties of England, about thirty 
miles from the residence of Lord Appleby, lived 
Sir William Lacy, a baronet of the honourable 
creation of 1611 , of ancient family, and ample 
fortune. At the period at which our tale com- 
mences, he was somewhat inclining to three- 
score,’’ and in addition to the above mentioned 
external advantages, was blessed with good health, 
a wife who seldom thwarted him, a promising son 
of about four and twenty, and a daughter one year 
older, who was happily married to the only son of 
a late friend and neighbour. He also enjoyed the 
most perfect independence, was not burthened 
either with parliamentary duties, or the thankless 
office of a justice of the peace, had few calls upon 
his attention from the affairs of others, and had a 
steward, in whom he placed such reliance, as to 
feel himself bound to bestow very little upon his 
own. If leisure, therefore, be mainly conducive 
to a life of happiness. Sir William Lacy may be 
fairly presumed to have attained it: for no one pro- 
bably had his time more thoroughly at his own dis- 


HERBERT LACY. 


15 


posal, or pursued with greater regularity his even 
tenor of self-indulgence. He was a man of good 
abilities, but great indolence, an indolence which, 
though comparatively little apparent during the 
volatile period of youth, or even in the vigour of 
mature manhood, had acquired a visible influence 
during his later years. His very virtues savoured 
of it: they were all passive. He was good-hu- 
moured, purely because it was too much trouble 
to be vexed; and though he had but little active 
generosity, and never volunteered a gift, he sel- 
dom resisted even an unreasonable request. He 
had a considerable fund of native humour, and 
though he never exerted himself to shine in con- 
versation, his remarks were generally pointed and 
amusing. He had drawn copious stores from books, 
and was at the same time a shrewd observer of 
passing events, and the conduct and character of 
others. He had never been a man of pleasure, 
nor had he any thing in common with that class, 
except a thorough hatred of business. His habits 
were literary; that is to say, he was one of those 
who amuse themselves in skimming the ever vary- 
ing surface of literature, in glancing over new 
publications, and culling entertaining trifles from 
the pages of reviews and magazines. 

The productions of his pen were short and va- 
rious. Divers of his poetical jeux esprit were 
dispersed in albums. He had written one article 
in a magazine now defunct, and had addressed a 
letter to Sylvanus Urban, describing a live toad 
that was found in a stone quarry on his estate. He 
had begun many political pamphlets; but always, 
cither the time went by, or he changed his opin- 
ion, or grew tired of the subject before he had fin- 
ished it. These pursuits amused, and in some de- 
gree occupied him; and, at any rate, they cheated 


16 


HERBERT LACY. 


him into a belief that if his body was supine, his 
mind? at least, was active. 

When young, Sir William mixed much with 
the world, and seemed fond of society; but since 
his marriage, finding, probably, that the hospita- 
lities of life entailed upon him greater exertion 
than during the unshackled period of his celibacy, 
or that time had deprived society of its zest, he 
became a stout supporter of seclusion, discontinued 
from time to time the expected calls and invitations 
which civility demanded towards his neighbours, 
till friend after friend dropped off, and he found 
himself at the expiration of twenty years, in the 
centre of a large and hospitable neighbourhood, al- 
most in a state of solitude. 

Meanwhile, there was one passion which, though 
generally of too turbulent a nature to be the com- 
panion of indolence, had attained a rapid growth, 
and been fostered by this very seclusion. This 
passion was pride. Mixing little with his equals 
and superiors, and communing chiefly with his 
own mind, or with his inferiors in age, talent, or 
station, what wonder if he became inflated with a 
high sense of his own importance? Mortifications 
also- reached him. He could not but be sensible 
that the world which he had long neglected, had 
in return neglected him. He endeavoured to 
feel the proud contempt of injured merit, to think 
how much happier he was in himself, than the vain 
pleasures of society could make him, and to ‘^dash 
the world aside, and bid it pass.’^ 

But these efibrts were generally fruitless. Of- 
ten of late, would he sigh for civilities, which he 
had once denounced as troublesome, and long to 
resume that station, which, when once lost, was 
not easily regained. Besides, he felt that the first 
step must now be made by him, and this step he 


HERBERT LACY. 


17 


scorned to take; and pride rivetted those chains 
which indolence had first imposed. Thus, though 
naturally a good-natured, easy, cheerful man, he 
became testy and irascible, tenderly suspicious of 
neglect and insult, and ready to trace in the most 
innocent conduct of his neighbours a disposition to 
affront him. 

Lady Lacy was a well disposed woman, of weak 
judgment and strong prejudices. Her chief de- 
fect, was a love of petty mystery, through which 
she frequently magnified trifles, and sometimes 
produced misunderstandings, which she had not 
the ability to repair. She was an excessive won- 
dererat nothings, and though with scarce sufficient 
discernment to protect her from the most obvious 
snare, though herself shrewd and politic, and could 
generally discover deep and hidden motives for 
the simplest actions. Bating a little prying love 
of scandal, she took a charitable pleasure in the 
welfare of her neighbours, and was unimpeachable 
in her exercise of the important duties of wife and 
mother. 

Sir William and Lady Lacy had only one son 
and one daughter, of whom the latter was married, 
much to the satisfaction of her parents, to Mr. 
Hartley, a young man of good fortune in that 
neighbourhood. Mrs. Hartley was in most re- 
spect the converse of her mother,, quick and intelli- 
gent, somewhat decisive in her tone, and masculine 
in her modes of thinking. She was handsome, ele- 
gant, and well-bred, and nothing was requisite but 
a slight diminution of coldness and bluntness, to 
make her at all times very agreeable. 

Herbert Lacy differed from his parents in many 
respects, as widely as his sister did. To all the 
intelligence and literary taste of Sir William Lacy, 
he added the mental vigour and physical activity 
2 -^' 


18 


HERBERT LACY. 


which his father wanted. He was rapid, perhaps 
hasty, in his judgments; but he had a mind which 
eagerly sought conviction, and never cherished 
with puny partiality, a preconceived opinion, or 
feared to retract an erroneous assertion. He was ge- 
nerous, open, unsuspicious, lively, and enterprising, 
somewhat fickle in his pursuits, but ardent in the 
furtherance of them. He was perhaps rather too 
much dazzled with the specious lustre of versatile 
accomplishments, and ambitious of the reputation 
of knowing a little of every thing; a reputation 
which most of his acquaintance were ready to grant 
him. His manners were agreeable, and his con- 
versation varied and amusing. 

His father’s seclusion had not influenced Her- 
bert’s habits; and, considering his youth, he had 
been a good deal seen in the world, and had a tole- 
rably extensive acquaintance with the best society. 
He had nicely honourable feelings, some pride of 
birth, a good deal of fastidiousness, and a disposi- 
tion to hauteur, towards those whom he disliked. 
His habits were naturally sociable, and he had just 
that proper proportion of vanity, which creates in 
some degree the “ besoin de succes,’^ and prompts 
its possessor to put in requisition his powers of pleas- 
ing. He saw with pain, the indolent seclusion to 
which his father had doomed himself, and lamented 
it the more when he perceived its unhappy effect 
upon his mind, in producing a feeling of morbid 
pride, to vrhich he would otherwise have been a 
stranger. At first, he was disposed to think, that 
there was little cause for this irritable dread of 
neglect, and doubted not that his father still main- 
tained his proper station in the estimation of his 
neighbours. But a county meeting, to which Sir 
William, with some difficulty, consented to accom- 
pany his son, tended to alter this opinion. Her- 


HERBERT LACY. 


19 


bert Lacy then perceived to his sorrow, that, 
though some outward civility was displayed to- 
wards his father, there were few indications of 
friendship or respect. He was viewed by his 
neighbours, as one who has awakened from a long 
trance, and could neither know nor care much, 
concerning any subject in which they felt most 
interested. 

Many did not know him, and few that did were 
cordial in their manner. They made punctilious 
inquiries after Lady Lacy; and then the speakers 
would turn away, as if they had discharged their 
duty, and enter into cheerful converse with those 
with whom they had broken bread, and mixed in 
active scenes and useful labours that afforded sub- 
jects of mutual interest. Herbert saw that these 
demonstrations of indifference, were not lost upon 
hi« father, and that, in spite of his assumed cheer- 
fulness, they mgrtified him deeply. He sincerely 
hoped that wounded pride would urge him to re- 
gain that consideration to which but for his own 
besetting sin, he was so justly entitled: but alas! 
it operated to his disadvantage, as such a passion 
always does; and with grief, did Herbert hear him 
denounce his neighbours, as a tiresome set of 
senseless boors; ridicule with no inconsiderable 
humour the objects and conduct of the meeting, 
and profess his resolution, never again to subject 
himself to the useless penance of herding with 
such a band of uncongenial spirits. 

Encountered, as Sir William Lacy was, on al- 
most every side, with the just retaliation of neg- 
lect, it is creditable to state, that there was but one 
family whom he regarded with any feeling of en- 
mity. The head of this obnoxious house was Mr. 
Morton, a gentleman as little resembling him in 
bis modes of life as in dignity of descent. Mr. 


20 


HERBERT LACY. 


Morton’s father, a man of mean extraction, had 
accumulated a considerable fortune in the iron 
trade, and having appropriated a large part of it to 
the purchase of the Dod swell estate, property sit- 
uated not far from Lacy Park, had early endea- 
voured to sink the manufacturer in the country 
gentleman; and being ambitious of securing to his 
vson those advantages in which he himself was de- 
ficient, spared no expense in his education, pushed 
him onward into the polite world, and urged him 
to cultivate the society of persons of rank, and if 
possible to ennoble his escutcheon by a dignified 
alliance. All this his son, the present Mr. Mor- 
ton, succeeded in performing; for he soon got into 
possession of a large and fashionable acquaintance, 
and eventually married Lady Louisa Eustace, 
daughter of the Duke of Swansea. 

Mr. Morton was a man of gentlemanly man- 
ners and prepossessing appearance. To education 
and society he owed much; but Nature, which does 
not always disdain to bestow the most aristocratic 
distinctions of face and figure, on those whose 
claims cannot be ratified by the Herald’s College, 
had been highly liberal to Mr. Morton; and he 
certainly bore, in a remarkable degree, that sub- 
tle, indefinable grace, which bespeaks at once the 
gentleman. To this he chiefly owed his success, 
for though a man of pleasure, he was not strictly 
one of gaiety, and though from a knowledge of the 
world, and a consequent fund of anecdote, he was 
tolerably pleasing, he never contributed much to 
the entertainment of any one, or could justly re- 
ceive other than the undistinguishing praise of 
good-breeding. His talents were, perhaps, rather 
above than below mediocrity; but he had never 
been urgently called upon to exert them, and they 
were, therefore, less efficient than they might have 


HERBERT LACT. 


21 


been. Of pride, he had no small portion; and it 
was, perhaps, rendered more vigilant by the reflec- 
tion that he was maintaining a station in society, 
to which neither his birth, his fortune, nor his ta- 
lents, viewed singly, might seem to entitle him. 

Such a person would naturally be irritated by 
the cool and careless treatment which he experi- 
enced from Sir William Lacy, a man superior in 
rank and descent, and whose inhospitality it was 
therefore obvious to attribute to pride. At the 
same time, the baronet felt more jealous than he 
was disposed to admit, of the popularity and in- 
fluence which this low-born person had obtained 
in the neighbourhood. 

A number of trifling causes also contributed, on 
either side, to swell the amount of their respective 
grievances. In the first place, Mr. Morton had 
been an unsuccessful suitor of Lady Lacy^s; and, 
shortly after his marriage, thought proper to betray 
his resentment, by repulsive treatment of that lady. 
Moreover, on an argument which once took place 
between the gentlemen. Sir William unfortunately 
let fall a compliment to Mr. Morton upon his skill 
in irony. The baronet was notoriously addicted 
to punning, and was thought to have uttered the 
remark with a sly significance of manner; but, 
though appearances were against him, the offence 
was really unintentional. Mr. Morton, however, 
thought otherwise; and this equivocal allusion to 
his father’s trade galled his pride severely; the 
more perhaps, because it was too questionable an 
affront to be openly noticed. Soon afterwards, Sir 
William Lacy, who, as lord of a neighbouring ma- 
nor, had the right of fishing in a river which flowed 
for some distance through the property of Mr. 
Morton, wishing to exercise his right, sent his 
keeper with a request to the latter to be allowed to 
enter upon his lands. Mr. Morton, forgetting for a 


22 


HERBERT LACY. 


while his usual guarded courtesy, replied that Sir 
William Lacy’s people had full liberty to fish the 
river; but that, in justice to his tenants, whose 
crops were now, in a state of forwardness, he must 
positively forbid them from setting their foot on 
either bank. 

These were some of the petty circumstances which 
sowed disunion in the breasts of two men whose 
pleasing manners and gentlemanly habits ought to 
have produced a mutual friendship. It would have 
been fortunate, perhaps, had there been any one 
great ground of offence in place of the trivial causes 
which now existed. There would then have been 
something to forgive and forget; hands would have 
been shaken, and they would have been better 
friends in consequence. But now there was no- 
thing to warrant enmity, and a great deal which 
seemed to justify dislike, and upon which they 
could never come to an explanation, because they 
would each have been ashamed of allowing that 
any one circumstance had ever dwelt in their re- 
collection. Therefore, after debarring themselves 
of all proper means of fairly estimating each other’s 
character, they sat down in satisfied dislike, each 
investing the other with disagreeable attributes of 
their own choosing. Sir William Lac)^ regarded 
Mr. Morton as an ill-bred, assuming, low-minded 
person; while that gentleman viewed the baronet 
as proud, cynical, illiberal, and selfish. 

Lady Louisa Morton was a weak, dawdling wo- 
man, who, having naturally rather delicate health, 
indulged in playing the invalid till she became at 
last almost as incapable of exertion as she would 
fain have been believed. She was not unamiable, 
but had many of the petty faults to which a weak 
mind, under the influence of indolence and ill 
health, is naturally exposed. She had five child- 
ren living, two sons and three daughters. 


HERBERT LACY. 


23 


The eldest daughter, Lady Malvern, was now 
about four-and-twenty ; a pretty woman, not posi- 
tively unamiable, but rather spoilt, with no little 
vanity and pretension, and an uneasy aspiration 
after fashionable distinction. She was fond of her 
husband and her sister Agnes, to whom she was 
an acti’O’e chaperon, and whom she was proud of 
producing, though not so proud as she was of be- 
ing the daughter-in-law of Lady Rod borough, 
whom she thought the first of human beings, and 
who treated her with great contempt. Agnes was 
about four years younger, and had herself a young- 
er sister, Marianne, then about fifteen. The two 
sons were of the intermediate ages, of twenty- 
three and eighteen. The eldest was attache to 
an embassy. The youngest, who was destined 
for the church, was just entered at Oxford. 

Agnes, the second daughter, had lived very lit- 
tle with her parents. At an early age she had 
been adopted by Mrs. Denham, sister of Mr. Mor- 
ton, who had married a man of good fortune, and 
who, having no children, entreated Lady Louisa 
and her brother to give up to her their second 
daughter. The prospects held out by this propo- 
sal were such as inclined them to accede to it; and 
the little Agnes was consequently resigned to the 
tuition of her aunt, who, being a w’oman of good 
principles and strong sense, gave to her niece an 
education in every respect excellent, and infinitely 
better than she could have received under the fee- 
ble administration of Lady Louisa. 

Mrs. Denham became a widow soon after this 
precious charge devolved upon her: she, however, 
long survived her husband, and had now been dead 
about two years, Agnes being at the period of that 
event little more than seventeen. She left hand- 
some legacies to the brothers and sisters of her 
adopted charge, and to several of her own friends 




HERBERT LACY. 


and relations; but the bulk of her fortune amount- 
ing to eighty thousand pounds, was settled upon 
Agnes and her issue, and, in failure of issue, was 
to be divided at her death between her brothers 
and sisters, and their children. Other conditions 
were annexed to the bequest. The money was 
vested in two trustees, who were also appointed 
her guardians, and four hundred a year was to be 
paid to her out of it, till she arrived at the age of 
twenty -four, at which time she was to be entitled 
to the annual interest of the whole. 

She was also to become entitled to the whole in- 
come of her fortune upon her marriage previous 
to that age, provided that such marriage was con- 
tracted with the consent of her guardians and trus- 
tees. But if she married without their consent 
before she arrived at the age of twenty-four, she 
was to forfeit all but the sum of ten thousand 
pounds, and the remainder was to go to her bro- 
thers and sisters, and their children, as before men- 
tioned. The trustees were Mr. Sackville, a rela- 
tion of the late Mr. Denham, a man of considera- 
ble talent, and an intimate friend of the family, 
and Mr. Hawksworth, an elderly gentleman of 
great respectability. To each of these were left 
bequests; and to Mr. Sackville in particular, the 
house and surrounding estates. 


HERBERT LACY. 


25 


CHAPTER III. 

’Tis safest to begin with a little aversion. 

The Rivals, 


We must now return to Huntley Park, wliere 
^ve shall find the hour of dinner fast approaching, 
and the party re-appearing after their dispersion 
for the business of the toilette. Agnes Morton 
could not help looking, with some curiosity, round 
the rooms in search of the object of their previous 
conversation, but saw, hitherto, none but well 
known faces. At length the door of an adjoining 
room was opened, and she saw enter a young man, 
rather short and fat, with a face of irresistible good 
humour, and a manner which, with all its oddity, 
seemed admirably suited to the person it belonged 
to. If this was Lacy, she thought the judgment 
rather too favourable which had commended his 
good looks; but scarcely had she settled this point 
than, Hartley, how are you?’^ burst at once from 
several quarters. 

‘‘You have been hiding of late,’’ said Mr. Tyr- 
whitt. “ In what part of the world were you to 
be seen?” 

“ Seen! I hardly know,” said the character; “ I 
saw myself in the glass every morning — but you 
would hardly have found any thing like me there.” 
Then, moving on towards Lady Appleby, he ut- 
tered a good deal of laughable nonsense in the form 
of messages, which he pretended that Mrs. Hartley 
had charged him to deliver. 

VoL. I. 3 


26 


HERBERT LACY. 


I am glad,’^ said her ladyship, ‘ that you have 
brought Mr. Lacy with you. I hope you have 
brought him safe and well.’^ 

I hope so, Fm sure,^’ said he gravely. “I 
took all possible care of him; I had him labelled 
with ‘glass,’ and, ‘to be kept dry,’ and ‘this side 
uppermost,’ which is all one can do for any parcel. 
I consigned him, with the rest of the luggage, 
to the care of my people, and I conclude — Oh, 
here he is.” 

Agnes was within hearing, and turning as he 
spoke, saw a young man advance towards them, 
whose appearance agreeably exceeded her expecta- 
tions. She also perceived that his exterior was 
not new to her, and that, without knowing his 
name, she had often met him in London crowds. 
She could not tell whether he was tall or short, 
but she could easily decide the question whether he 
was plain or handsome. His features were good, 
even when at rest; but when lighted up with ani- 
mation, few could refuse to admire them; and to 
these he added the graces of a manner which it is 
difficult to define, otherwise than in saying that, 
to an experienced eye, under any disguise of mean 
attire, or low association, it would have betrayed 
at once the gentleman. 

“ Mr. Lacy,” said Lady Appleby, who had 
been manufacturing a speech from the moment she 
saw him enter the room, “ I have had great plea- 
sure in receiving from your brother in-law such 
excellent accounts of our good friends Sir William 
and Lady Lacy, who I hear are now enjoying per- 
fect health at their charming place at Lacy Park. 
I assure you this intelligence is a great compensa- 
tion for our loss of the expected pleasure of seeing 
them here; a pleasure on which we had long count- 
ed, for it has always been a high satisfaction to 
Lord Appleby and myself to receive under this 
roof any member of your family.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


27 


Lacy bowed, and smiled. 

‘‘Even you — do you understand?’’ said Hart- 
ley, half aloud. 

Lacy gave a quick glance to check him; and con- 
trolling a strong disposition to quizzery, which 
liu-ked in the twinkling corners of his eyes, took a 
seat by Lady Appleby, and accommodated himself, 
with much politeness of attention, to the involu- 
tions of that lady’s oratory until he was relieved 
by the announcement of dinner. 

At table Lacy found himself seated next to Lady 
Malvern, a lady whom he disliked, and whom he 
had previously acknowledged merely with a cold 
bow. There was little disposition on either side to 
say more than politeness absolutely required; and 
Lacy, during the first part of the repast, fell con- 
siderably in that lady’s estimation, by seeming to 
prefer to her own superior conversation the child- 
ish babble of the second Miss Tyrwhitt The dis- 
like of the Mortons, which he had always been en- 
couraged to entertain, had caused him to see the 
foibles of Lady Malvern perhaps in rather too 
strong a light; particularly that affectation of finery, 
to which he thought she had so little pretension. 
She had also, on more than one occasion, accosted 
him with an air of lofty coldness, awkwardly co- 
pied from Lady Rodborough, which though Lacy 
internally ridiculed, he could not entirely brook. 
Now that he saw her more closely, he was more 
disposed to be amused with her character than an- 
gry at her treatment of him. He therefore turned 
at length to talk to her, and by a happy selection of 
subjects, and permitting her to enlarge upon the 
perfections of the Rodborough family, and many 
dear friends of high consideration, he soon gained a 
much better place in her good graces than she was 
ever likely to obtain in his. 

Agnes, who sat at some distance, saw with sur- 
prise the gradual effect which Lacy’s conversation 


28 


HERBERT LACY. 


seemed to have in softening the aversion of her sis- 
ter; and, knowing that she was by no means a skil- 
ful dissembler, and could not exhibit much more 
graciousness than she really felt, she was early in- 
duced to rate highly those powers of pleasing which 
could so soon disarm such strong dislike. While 
thinking thus, she began to question whether she 
herself should be won over with equal ease to the 
side of the enemy, as she then called him. She 
trusted, not. With all proper modesty and humi- 
lity, she could not but be sensible that her own ca- 
pacity was superior to her sister’s, and that she was 
less liable to be blinded by a few specious, well ap- 
plied civilities. Indignant, by anticipation, at the 
prospect of any attempt to invade her judgment 
by a system of cajolery, she was at that moment 
predisposed to do infinitely less than justice to any 
agreeable qualities that she might afterwards disco- 
ver in Mr. Lacy. Perhaps, at the same time, she 
was somewhat apprehensive of her own weakness, 
or she would not have thus meditated a defence 
before there was any prospect of being assailed. 

Lacy, on his part, had not been unobservant, and 
Agnes quickly caught his eye. Well might his at- 
tention rest on her, for in her he saw one possess- 
ed of no slight personal advantages. She was just 
of such a height as to escape the character of a tall 
person, and had a graceful carriage, and an elegant 
figure. Though not decidedly a brunette, she par- 
took of that complexion much more than of the 
blonde. Her hair was black, her eyes deep blue, 
her neck and forehead beautifully white; in short, 
without flattery or exaggeration, she might be pro- 
nounced extremely handsome. What wonder, then, 
if Lacy’s looks were turned with admiration to- 
wards an object so attractive; or that he watched 
with interest those sparkling eyes, that beamed 
with such vivacity and intelligence; or that beau- 
tiful mouth, that seemed formed to utter only agree- 


HERBERT LACY. 


29 


able things. He soon became curious to know her 
name, which he had not hitherto ascertained. 

Introductions are now in such disuse, and all the 
members of a party are left so frequently to become 
acquainted as they can, that this circumstance, con- 
sidering that, including the ten minutes before din- 
ner, he had not yet passed half an hour in the com- 
pany of Agnes, will not appear surprising. He 
therefore asked Lady Malvern, in a low tone, 
whether the young lady on the other side of the ta- 
ble was any relation of the Tyrwhitts. The com- 
munication which followed gave any thing rather 
than satisfaction; and Lacy internally sighed to 
think that one who seemed so elegant should be a 
member of the low-born house of Morton. Lady 
Malvern, one of whose best points was a great ad- 
miration and ajQfection for her sister, increased the 
force of his unfavourable impressions by various 
remarks, the chief and very visible object of which 
was to exhibit Agnes to the best advantage. Lacy 
remarked, that, though hitherto ignorant of Miss 
Morton’s name, he remembered to have seen her 
at parties in town. 

Yes,” said Lady Malvern, carelessly, ‘‘ I sup- 
pose you may have met her, though she did not 
go about much. She was seen only at a few places; 
for, in fact, I always strongly objected to her 
throwing herself away upon small balls and second 
rate routs; and there are so many of that descrip- 
tion, one is compelled to draw a strict line.” 

‘‘It is very advisable,” said Lacy: “I wish 
others would be as strict. It is the only way to 
check pretension.” 

“ Ah — true, true,” added Lady Malvern, little 
suspecting the double bearing of his remark; and 
I must say, that in spite of all the common, vulgar 
outcry about finery and exclusiveness, I cannot see 
any thing of it myself. I should say there was not 
enough. It really is quite melancholy to see the 


30 


HERBERT LACY. 


creatures that come to Almack’s. How they get 
there nobody knows. Begging Lady Cheltenham’s 
pardon, I suspect it is partly her fault, and I could 
not help telling her so once. ‘ Now, Lady Chel- 
tenham,’ I said, ‘ you are really too good-natured 
— you won’t refuse any body — as for myself, I am 
quite afraid of even hinting any thing I wish; in- 
deed,’ I said, ‘you positively must not give Agnes 
another subscription.’ But she only laughed, and 
told me she could not afford to lose her, for there 
was a terrible dearth of beauty.” 

Lady Malvern then went on to describe that 
lady very accurately, for Lacy’s better informa- 
tion, little suspecting that he was both an acquaint- 
ance and a relation. A knowledge of the latter 
fact he well knew would have raised him greatly 
in her opinion, but of that opinion he felt at this 
moment so regardless, that he did not condescend 
to tell her. The disgust which he conceived for 
the silly assumption of Lady Malvern, was now 
allowed to operate very unjustly to the prejudice 
of her sister; and Lacy was too early prepared to 
find in her the same weak fluttering vanity — the 
same restless ambition to gloss over with borrowed 
finery the real insignificance of her extraction. He 
saw great indications of elegance in the appearance 
of Agnes, and he was somewhat uncharitably dis- 
posed to think that this refinement was but tinsel, 
which would not bear the test of examination, and 
thinly covered real vulgarity. 

Nursed in lofty aristocratic feelings, and care- 
fully encouraged by his father in opinions so flat- 
tering to himself, Herbert was inclined to place 
the prerogative of birth rather higher than is usual 
with those who had trodden, like himself, the le- 
velling maze of fashionable society. He had been 
taught invariably to connect vulgarity with low 
extraction; and he could not divest himself suffi- 
ciently of that impression, or give due weight to 


HERBERT LACY. 


31 


the effect and influence of wealth and education, 
which are alike open to all in this free and en- 
lightened country. The usages of society might 
have taught him, that if any credentials were now 
necessary to obtain admission to a London draw- 
ing-room, the rent-roll would generally be’demand- 
od in preference to the pedigree. But this was a 
fact to which he had either shut his eyes, or view- 
ed it as a strange and improper anomaly; and as 
the error flattered his self-love, he had hitherto 
continued in it. He was in the present instance 
rather proud of the sturdiness of his principles, in 
not being dazzled by the outward charms of the 
grand-daughter of an ironmonger; and never sus- 
pected his own illiberality in condemning her un- 
heard because her family had lately risen by hon- 
est industry, and an elder sister, for whose man- 
ners she could not be accountable, was a silly, 
vain, affected woman. Throughout the remainder 
of the evening, therefore, he studiously preserved 
this resolute indifference, and never attempted to 
discover whether the mental graces of Agnes Mor- 
ton bore any proportion to her personal ones. In 
fact, several hours had elapsed without their hav- 
ing exchanged a syllable: but there were many 
other persons to talk to, and the circumstance was 
probably unknown to all but themselves. 

Music was in due time proposed, and Agnes, 
who was an accomplished musician, sung and played 
a good deal, and in a style with which Lacy, who 
had an accurate musical taste, ought to have been 
much pleased. But Lacy was otherwise disposed. 
He never even approached her during any of her 
performances, or ejaculated a single praise, or asked 
the name of the last song. However, as gentlemen 
are not compelled by the rules of modern society 
either to listen or admire, he could seem perfectly 
inattentive without any breach of good-breeding. 
He was in his most fastidious mood, perversely 


32 


HERBERT LACr. 


bent upon discovering a tinge of vulgarity in all 
that Miss Morton said or did. He questioned with 
himself, whether she did not even sing and play 
rather too professionally well, and saw in her 
prompt, unaffected readiness to gratify her friends, 
only an indelicate fondness for display. It cannot 
be supposed that, in the mean time, Lacy had gain- 
ed much ground in the good opinion of Agnes. 
Her sister had certainly seemed to relax from her 
repulsiveness during dinner; but she had hitherto 
uttered nothing in his favour: for though Lady 
Malvern was now really disposed to like him, she 
had too great a love of consistency to praise one 
whom she had so lately thought proper to cen- 
sure. 

Agnes, therefore, saw in Lacy nothing more 
than a gentlemanly young man, who would not 
condescend to notice her, and had certainly shown 
no taste for music. Of his conversation, as he was 
seldom near her, she had few opportunities of judg- 
ing. The chief specimens which she heard were 
a discussion with Mrs. Poole about the intermar- 
riages and relationships of a set of people she did 
not know, and a little small talk with Miss Tyr- 
whitts, which was carefully adapted to the calibre 
of that young lady’s small understanding. Be- 
tween herself and him nothing passed which de- 
served the name of conversation. Once it happen- 
ed that she was asking the name of somebody’s 
place, which those whom she spoke to could not 
tell her. Lacy supplied the information: she 
thanked him; and then each turned to talk to some 
one else; and this was all that was said by each 
to the other in the whole course of that evening. 


HERBERT LACY. 


33 


CHAPTER IV. 


What if he has made a ridiculous gimcrack of his house 
and gardens : you know his heart is set upon it : and could not 
you commend his taste? 

Three Weeks after Marriage. 

A mischievous error in education is, that children are plagued 
with a great deal of useless knowledge, while the most im- 
portant objects are overlooked. 

Spukzheim. 

It is difficult to say how long Lacy would have 
preserved this distant demeanor had he not been 
drawn into a closer communication with Agnes 
Morton, by an arrangement which was made on 
the following morning. Lady Appleby and Mrs. 
Poole had agreed to call upon their common friends 
the Bingleys, and Agnes had engaged to accompa- 
ny them. A gentleman was wanted to complete 
the party, and as her ladyship and Mrs. Poole both 
fixed upon Lacy as the most desirable companion, 
he was pressed to fill the fourth seat in their ba- 
rouche. 

The party set out; Lady Appleby all civility — 
Mrs. Poole all good humour — Agnes in cheerful 
spirits, and Lacy perfectly well disposed de faire 
les /raise de la conversation. His fastidious cau- 
tion of the preceding evening was lost in the ani- 
mation of the present moment, and he soon found 
himself undesignedly, and unconsciously talking 
wdth lively interest to Agnes. It was greatly in 
her favour that Lady Malvern was not of the par- 


34 


HERBERT LACY. 


ty, for her presence would infallibly have preserv- 
ed Lacy in that haughty system of circumspec- 
tion which he had prescribed to himself. 

At length, they arrived at Castleglass Abbey, 
the seat of the Bingleys, a place which, though its 
name was compounded of Castle and Abbey, had 
very little of the appearance of either, and in fact 
was so called only from occupying the site of an 
ancient monastery. It was a long, low, Italian 
villa, in the most recent state of incompleteness, 
built with verandas, and projecting roofs, and va- 
rious contrivances to alleviate the intensity of that 
sun, which in this country so seldom shines, and 
having an airy unsubstantial character, which was 
any thing but attractive in that most uncomforta- 
ble of all times, a cold day in summer. The si- 
tuation was but moderately pretty; and the place, 
which had not at all the character of a show place, 
was now seen to great disadvantage. It had a raw, 
unfinished air throughout; on all sides was a great 
deal that was to be beautiful some time or other, 
but very little that was so at present. Newly 
gravelled walks, visible throughout all their curves, 
twined among large expanses of coarse turf, which 
was variously chequered with brown diagrams, 
looking like selections from the Chinese puzzle, 
that went by the name of flower-beds. Beyond 
these were extensive red, sandy tracts, where the 
nakedness of the land was as yet but ill concealed 
by the small, thirsty-looking evergreens, which, 
with due allowance for future growth, were spar- 
ingly dotted over it. 

They entered the house, which still smelt of 
paint and whitewash, and were introduced into the 
presence of Mrs. Bingley. This lady was not very 
distinguishable from the great mass of good sort of 
women. Her best quality in society was a dispo- 
sition to please, and to be pleased; and this is a 
quality which justly compensates for a very great 


HERBERT LACY. 


35 


inferiority of social powers. In Mrs. Bingley, 
however, a wish to view the bright side of every 
circumstance, added to a nervous eagerness to be 
lively and agreeable, sometimes produced results, 
which closely verged upon the ludicrous. In the 
present instance, after the first greetings, mutual 
inquiries took their usual precedence of other con- 
versation. 

Thank you,’’ said Mrs. Bingley, we are 
quite well now, but we have been shockingly ill, 
I assure you. It must have been an epidemic, 
something contagious in the air, for we all had it — 
every one. There was Mr. Bingley, and I, and 
Edmund, and Jane, and Louisa, and Margaret, 
and Arthur — we were all ill together — it was so 
droll!” 

She then went on to relate how ludicrously they 
had been tormented with smoke, and the exquisite 
joke of having a new white marble chimney-piece 
spoiled by it. She showed them the stains for 
their entertainment, and said, with a laugh, that 
they would never come out. The new house af- 
forded ample matter for conversation; and as all 
her visiters politely expressed a curiosity respect- 
ing its arrangements, so was the lady perfectly 
ready to gratify them, by a full display of the 
whole of it. Far from wishing them to receive 
any thing upon her bare assertion, she insisted upon 
their seeing all with their own eyes; and leaving 
Lacy in an unfurnished drawing room, with a roll 
of plans to entertain him, carried off the ladies, to 
convince them, by ocular proof, that the bed-rooms 
were exactly of the number and size which she 
described. 

These inflictions being over, Mr. Bingley made 
his appearance, and being assured that his lady had 
done the honours of the interior, proposed to con- 
duct them through the grounds. This, however. 


30 


HERBERT LACY. 


Ihe ladies declined: fatigue, recent rain, thin shoes, 
and fear of wet, were among the principal excuses, 
and the hope of another opportunity was held out 
as a consolation to Mr. Bingley. But there was 
no such escape for Lacy: he could neither be tired, 
nor fearful of wet, and could look for no other op- 
portunity. In addition to this. Lady Appleby, 
whose compliments, by some strange fatality, were 
generally ill-timed, made frequent appeals to his 
well known taste, and assured her friends, that the 
improvements in the approach at Lord Westburn’s 
had been made upon his sole suggestion. He was 
therefore fastened upon by Mr. Bingley, who pro- 
fessed a great wish to consult his judgment. There 
was no resisting such an assurance, and Lacy was 
forced to comply, exchanging with Agnes a look 
of comic despair, as he was hurried out of the 
room. 

Mr. Bingley was that well known animal, a 
proser; and in addition to the defect of an inconti- 
nence of words, had a considerable want of fluency 
in the delivery of them. Lacy had a little of his 
father’s susceptibility to annoyances of this nature, 
and he was quick in estimating the colloquial pow- 
ers of his conductor, he soon discovered the disa- 
greeableness of his prospects. 

‘‘Ay,” said Mr. Bingley in answer to some 
civil things which Lacy said as they walked to- 
gether from the house, “ to be sure a great deal has 
been done, and I only wish that you could see 
what the place was, before all these improvements 
were made. It was not like the same thing. That 
lane, which runs beyond the hedge, near the two 
large firs in the field yonder, used to run between 
that sunk fence, and the farthest clump of those 
three. In the nearest corner of those meadows was 
an ancient fishpond, now filled up; and the farm 
buildings, which are now out of sight, behind the 


HERBERT LACY. 


37 


edge of the hill to the left, used to stand in the mid- 
dle of the lake — it was not a lake then, you under- 
stand. Then only look at the land in the valley 
on each side of the approach — what do you think 
that used to be? A swamp, Sir, positively a swamp. 
Well, what did I do? — I set to work and drained 
it — drained it all on both sides — turned a twenty- 
inch culvert in the centre of the hollow, and car- 
ried my carriage-road right across it. I will tell 
you a circumstance about that culvert: I had a lay- 
er-out of grounds here, a very positive sort of fel- 
low. He was for two feet: I stood up for twenty 
inches. We argued the point for several days, but 
at last I succeeded in convincing him that twenty 
inches would do exactly, and it did do, and it has 
done: and there is my approach running over the 
middle of it.’^ 

Lacy, anxious to change the subject, then advert- 
ed to his house. ‘‘You cannot conceive,’^ said 
Mr. Bingley, “ how superior it is to the house 1 
pulled down. I wish you could have seen that 
house. If I knew where to lay my hand upon it, I 
should like to show you the plan of it. I will try if I 
can get it for you; I think it would entertain you.’’ 

“You are very good,” said Lacy, “but I should 
be sorry to give you that trouble. I think I could 
hardly feel greater interest in your present house, 
even if I were to see the plan you mention. A good 
house does not require to be set off by the contrast 
of a bad one.” 

Mr. Bingley assented, and forbore to threaten 
him any longer with the plan. “And now. Sir,” 
said he, taking Lacy by the arm, and carefully 
placing him in a proper posilSon, “just cast your 
eyes — ay, there — in that direction, and now tell 
me your opinion. Does any thing strike you in 
that view, as admitting of improvement? I wish 
to profit by your judgment.” 

“Indeed,” said Lacy, after a modest disclaimer 

VoL. I. 4 


38 


HERBERT LACY. 


of any pretensions to superior judgment, I hardly 
know how to suggest anything — the view seems to 
be almost perfect: and it will soon lose what is per- 
haps its only blot when that building is gone, which 
I see you are now pulling down/^ 

Pulling down! my dear Sir! those people arc 
building it up — that is my new ruin — you don’t 
consider — one must have a ruin — surely you don’t 
object to that!” 

‘‘Certainly not,” replied Lacy. “It will be 
quite in character with your other improvements. 
My only fear was, that it might be rather too much 
in sight — but I suppose you are going to plant a 
part of it out. ” 

“ Sir, it is half planted out already. Why only 
look — there, just before — no, I forget — I beg your 
pardon — you cannot see the trees from hence — but 
if you will just step fifty yards further, you will see 
how judiciously it will be partly concealed,” and 
taking Lacy by the arm, he led him to the spot, 
where he detained him no little time with a minute 
dissertation upon ruins. 

Lacy’s stock of patience was now almost exhaust- 
ed, yet he still continued to listen to his cpmpanion 
with a tolerable air of attention. He also tried to 
quicken his progress by his own ready comprehen- 
sion, But it was in vain that Lacy displayed his 
ingenuity in anticipating the explanations of Mr. 
Bingley; for, as habitual stammerers are notorious- 
ly unwilling to accept the assistance of those who 
are content with half a sentence, or volunteer to 
finish it for them, so this gentleman was equally 
averse to any attempts to-relieve his mental hesita- 
tion ; and after Lacy had briefly expressed what he 
was going to say, was seldom satisfied without re- 
peating the same idea in other words. Foiled in 
this endeavour to shorten his term of penance, Lacy, 
as a last resource, ventured to intimate that his 
time was not his own, and that he must attend 


HERBERT LACY. 


39 


Lady Appleby. To this Mr. Bingley could offer 
no objection, though he ventured to throw in his 
way the last possible impediment by taking him 
the longest way back. 

At length they reached the house, where they 
found the ladies anxiously expecting their return. 
Even Mrs. Poole’s current of small talk had begun 
to fail; and Lady Appleby looked as if she would 
have found it a great relief to feel at liberty to yawn. 
Miss Morton looked placid and pretty, but was 
evidently wearied out of all animation; and Mrs. 
Bingley, deprived of the resources of locomation, 
began to find the entertainment of her guests an 
irksome task. Unfortunately they declined lun- 
cheon; and as she could not set them down to cat, 
she been compelled to summon the nursery to her 
aid, and fill up the time by displaying the various 
proficiencies of her offspring. 

Mrs. Bingley was the mother of five fine chil- 
dren, the eldest about seven years old, all fortu- 
nately at hand, and ready to be shown. She was 
a good mother — that is to say, good with regard to 
her intentions — very anxious for the welfare of her 
children, and indefatigable in her attention to them. 
But she was too sanguine and somewhat impatient, 
had little judgment in the direction of her efforts, 
and seemed to think that too much of a good thing 
could never be done or expected. She had im- 
bibed many wise maxims about teaching youth be- 
times, and instilling the seeds of early knowledge, 
all of which she applied rather too forcibly; and 
bitten with a mania for education, wanted to see 
her infant flock start up into little men and women, 
almost as soon as they could walk and talk. She 
had also that nervous impression, which, over anx- 
ious mothers are apt to entertain, that nothing re- 
lating to them could possibly go on well, except 
under her immediate eye. 

Her whole family, consisting of two boys and 


40 


HERBERT LACY. 


three daughters (the youngest a baby in the arms,) 
were brought in to be discussed and admired. They 
made their bows and curtseys at the door, and came 
forwards with their little heads poked up, as if the 
collar were still at their chins, and the backboard 
at their shoulders. 

“ Here,’^ said the mother, introducing Miss 
Louisa, a little curly-headed thing of four years and 
a half old; ‘‘here is a little lady, who 1 am afraid 
likes her dolls better than her books — don’t you, 
Louy?” kissing her. 

The visiters exclaimed at her fowardness, and 
wondered that she should be able to read at all. 
“Oh, she has been able to read this long time,” 
said Mrs. Bingley; “ but I am afraid,” she added, 
looking very grave, “ she does not always under- 
stand what she reads, and that is of the utmost con- 
sequence — go, and shut the anti-room door, Louy. 
She is a quick child,” pursued Mrs. Bingley, when 
she thought Louy was out of hearing, “ very quick, 
but wants application. The fact is she is too vola- 
tile.” 

“A serious fault at four years old,” observed Mrs. 
Poole. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs. Bingley, very inno- 
cently, “ for I am confident, that much depends 
upon forming the character early. Jane, here,” 
drawing towards her a demure, pretty looking child, 
on the verge of six — “ has much more steadiness of 
character. She is a very good girl, though I wish 
she showed more taste for music. I tell her every 
body likes music — how comes it that Jane does not? 
I dare say Miss Morton likes music — go to that 
lady, my love, and ask her.” 

Encouraged by the engaging smile of Agnes, the 
little musician sidled up to her, asked her the 
question, and received the required assurance. 

“And have you dot a tarryplaster?” said the in- 
credulous child, looking inquiringly in her face. 


HERBERT LACY. 


41 


Chiroplast, Jane; you must learn to say chiro- 
plast. No, Miss Morton does not want a chiro- 
plast, no more will you, when you can play better. 
She does not like the chiroplast ma’am, though she 
took to it wonderfully at first. I had her taught 
upon Logier’s system; I have spared no pains in 
giving her an early taste for music. I took her last 
spring to see the infant Lyra — I thought it would 
excite her emulation. Do you remember the little 
Lyra Jane? When will you do anything like that? 
Only think how well that little girl played upon 
that great harp!” 

But her harp is not so big as my piano forte,” 
said the little musician, rather piqued by the com- 
parison. 

‘‘ True, my love, but she plays it better. Ed- 
ward, my dear, don’t touch that — and do stand 
straight, or you will grow quite crooked. Come 
here; hold yourself up, as the soldiers do. We think 
him very like his father — but you must not pull 
those faces — ^you doiTt look like papa when you do 
so.” 

Mrs. Poole and Lady Appleby, nevertheless, 
professed themselves much struck with the likeness 
to Mr. Bingley. Agnes could not find it out, and 
avoided the question, by inquiring blaster Ed- 
mund’s age. 

Seven, next month,” said Mrs. Bingley. We 
think of sending him soon to school — Mr. Bingley 
wishes it — I am sure it is more than I do — for I 
dare say he will not learn so much as at home. - In 
fact, it is my plan to be always teaching them some 
little thing, and not to let an hour slip without put- 
ting something into their heads, and by all means 
to give them a habit of asking questions. Edmund 
was asking me this morning about the weather- 
glass: why it falls in rainy weather. — Do you re- 
inember Edmund? Why does the glass fall?” 

It is not the glass, it is the quicksilver as falls,” 

4 ^ 


42 


HERBERT LACY. 


said Master Edmund, with the matured confidence 
of seven years old. 

falls!’ falls. Mind your English. — 
And what makes the quicksilver fall?” 

‘‘ The weight of the air,” said the young philo- 
sopher. 

‘ ‘ V ery well remembered, Edmu nd. You see” — 
turning to her visiters, you see the nature of my 
system. There is no doing children proper justice 
without being constantly them.” 

At this moment the nurse entered to summon the 
children to their dinner; and they were reluctantly 
dismissed by their admiring parent, though not 
without receiving her parting directions to make 
their obeisances in due form, and mind how they 
went out of the room. The little girls grasped their 
frocks, and dropped their retiring curtseys, at the 
imminent danger of tumbling backw’ards; and Mas- 
ter Edmund striding out sideways, to the full ex- 
tent of one of his short legs, drew the other after 
it; then, after lowering his head to his knees, as if 
he were going to throw a summerset, regained once 
more an upright posture, and sidled out of the room 
according to directions, without turning his back on 
the company. Soon after this the gentlemen re- 
turned, and the visit was at length concluded. 

‘‘What a sweet woman Mrs. Bingley is!” said 
Lady Appleby, on her way homewards, “ and what 
astonishing pains she takes with her children!” 

“ Lord! poor things!” exclaimed Mrs. Poole, “ I 
think she overworks them sadly — I was quite sorry 
for the poor children. I dare say, as she says, she 
is always them — I hate to see people so strict and 
particular, and cramming children so shockingly 
early. It is well, perhaps, that I have none, for if 
I had, I am afraid I should spoil them. I am fond 
of giving them a little indulgence — are not you, 
Miss Morton?” 

“ Of the two extremes,” said Agnes, “ I pro- 


HERBERT LACY. 


43 


bably should prefer indulgence. Severity, how- 
ever, does not seem to be the faulty part of Mrs. 
Bingley^s system. Her foible is rather that.of being 
too anxious and attentive, and expecting more than 
is natural and necessary.’’ 

“I should not care,” said Mrs. Poole, ‘‘how 
little was learnt, at that very early age.” 

“ I will not go quite that length,” replied Agnes. 
“ I should certainly wish them to learn something; 
but 1 should think it was of more consequence to 
attend to their dispositions, and give them correct 
notions of right and wrong. I should be rather 
afraid of encouraging a feeling of rivalry. It would 
make them learn more; but it would be at the risk 
of injuring their tempers.” 

“Yes, I hate rivalry,” pursued Mrs. Poole, “and 
also the system of showing, them off — I am sure it 
must make them conceited. Children must be dull 
indeed if tliey don’t get a high opinion of their 
own importance, from seeing themselves so much 
attended to. They will soon learn to fancy that 
they are entitled to more notice than they have any 
right to expect. Did you ever see such a self- 
sufficient little old man of a child, as they have 
made of Lord Langley, Lord and Lady Brereton’s 
little boy? They have drilled, and crammed, and 
be-praised, and be-tutored the poor child, till he 
think;8 himself as great as a prince of thh blood.” 

“ Like the little German Duke of R 

added Lacy, “who observed, with some surprise, 
that an old officer, who had come to see him was 
not embarrassed in his presence. But, Mrs. Poole, 
I don’t think this self-sufficiency comes merely from 
over-tutoring. You will find, I dare say, many an 
ignorant child just as conceited as one that has been 
crammed from his cradle. However, I quite agree 
with what Miss Morton was saying about rivalry; 
and as for early prodigies, I suspect that they are ot 


44 


HERBERT LACV. 


little use but to gratify the vanity of parents and 
teachers/’ 

Very likely,” said Miss Morton; but it is an 
amiable kind of vanity, and one should not treat it 
very severely.” 

Lacy assented, and with a look of more genuine 
approbation than he had hitherto bestowed upon her. 
He had been pleased with the simple tone of un- 
affected good sense, which her observations had 
evinced. The subject was by no means such as 
young men and young ladies, generally, discuss; 
and the style of the conversation had much more 
of a didactic character, than is often suffered to pre- 
vail. Perhaps, however, it had not the less effect 
on that account. Men are generally disposed to 
give ample credit to the other sex, for the posses- 
sion of vivacity and a competent portion of the 
graces; but clear, natural good sense is a less obvi- 
ous quality, and is therefore more prized by them, 
Tvdien unostentatiously displayed. Having broken 
the ice, Lacy talked a good deal to Agnes; was 
much pleased and amused with her remarks; and 
found himself irresistibly impressed with a very fa- 
vourable opinion of her mental endowments. 


HERBERT LACY. 


45 


CHAPTER V. 


Why should I call *em fools? The world thinks better of *em; 
for these have quality, and education, wit, and fine conversa- 
tion, and are received and admired by the world. If not, 
they like and admire themselves ; and why is not that true 
wisdom ? 

COKGREVB. 

The first step towards the removal of dislike, is 
at once the most difficult and the most effectual, 
and this being taken, no other than a favourable 
result could be anticipated. But the prejudices of 
Lacy were as yet only softened, not disarmed ; and 
though he could not refuse to acknowledge the 
beauty of Agnes, he was far from being a willing 
admirer. He was ready to admit that she was 
clever, lively, sensible, and observant. To her 
disposition he was hitherto a stranger, and he easi- 
ly allowed himself to think, that she might be de- 
ficient in liberality and good nature. Though he 
had been amused by her remarks, he was inclined 
to quarrel with her quick perception of the ridicu- 
lous, and thought he perceived a greater tendency 
to satire, than accorded with his heau ideal of fe- 
male propriety. 

He might, however, have observed, had he been 
willing to be otherwise than censorious, that her 
satire was always light and playful, and that she 
was ever a willing advocate when an absent person 
was wantonly assailed. He might also have ob- 
served, that even where she had no sufficient 
grounds for an actual defence, her good nature 


46 


HERBERT LACY. 


would often lead her to attempt, by delicate and 
well-timed pleasantry, to blunt and divert the sal- 
lies of a ridicule which she considered too severe, 
Lacy, however, was naturally both observant and 
candid ; and whatever were his prepossessions, was 
not likely to struggle long against conviction. A 
wet day came opportunely to favour his acquaint- 
ance with Miss Morton. 

Nothing drives a party at a house in the coun- 
try more completely to their resources than rain. 
To kill time soon became an important object, and 
various were the means devised. Music and bil- 
liards had their turn; some went to play at battle- 
dore and shuttlecock in the hall; others beguiled 
the hours in ransacking albums and portfolios. Mr. 
Tyrwhitt, in despair, proposed ecartS\ and one of 
his sisters suggested that they should act charades: 
but these amusements were voted to be better re- 
sources for the evening. Some of the ladies work- 
ed a little, and some of the gentleman tried to be 
useful; one helped to unravel silk, and another de- 
livered his opinion upon colours and patterns. 

Luncheon came at last, and a great resource it 
was; for there was change of place and something 
to do. But the employment of eating was of short 
duration; and then, after lounging about the rooms 
of the principal suite, they were all at length re- 
assembled in the long gallery library, which, both 
in the morning and evening, was the principal 
place of rendezvous. They soon became various- 
ly employed. In the opposite corners of the same 
sofa sat Lady Appleby making a purse, and Lady 
Malvern reading a novel. Lord Malvern, the 
only person who seemed really busy, was writing 
at a distant table; and his Lordship of Appleby 
fast asleep with a newspaper on his knee. Mr. 
Tyrwhitt was teaching a poodle to walk upon his 
hind legs; Mrs. Poole and Miss Tyrwhitt enliven- 
ing themselves with a noisy game at backgammon; 


HERBERT LACY. 


47 

and Hartley sitting near, inventing paragraphs for 
their amusement, and making cross-readings in the 
newspaper. Lacy was alternately occupied in talk- 
ing, reading, drawing caricatures on the back of a 
letter he had just received, and watching the pro- 
ceedings of Agnes, whn was replacing some broken 
harp-strings. 

More was done than said, till the occupations of 
most of the party came at once to a conclusion. 
1 he noise of the dice and back-gammon men ceas- 
ed, the novel was laid down; the harp was strung 
and tuned; and those who were lately so busy 
seemed all at once inclined to find their best re- 
source in conversation. 

“ Who knows any thing of the Norton theatri- 
cals, said Mrs. Poole, first breaking the silence. 

Mr. Lacy, you were last there. 

‘‘ I have had an account to day,’^ said Lacy. 

The last event was a laughable tragedy — a com- 
plete chapter of accidents — -Richard’s hump slip- 
ped under his arm — Lady Anne put him in bodily 
fear, by her awkward manner of pretending to 
stab him; and Henry Slingsby, who played Buck- 
nigham, threw all into utter confusion, by repeat- 
ing, not only his part, but his cues.” 

‘‘Lord!” said Mrs. Poole, “what could they 
expect when they made that creature act in a tra- 
gedy! He has not a serious thought about him. I 
must say, I like him nevertheless. His laueh is 
delightful.” 

Yes,” said Lady Malvern, with a caustic air, 
which she copied from Lady Rodborough, ‘‘it is 
a pity he ever does any thing else. I allow that 
he is an incomparable laugher. Nobody is so 
amusing at a room’s length; but you lose the ef-' 
feet if you hear what he says.” 

“ Ah! you are like me, said Miss Tyrwhitt; 
“ I like laughing for laughing sake!” 

“I am sure,” pursued Lady Malvern, “that in 


48 


HERBERT LACY. 


Slingsby’s case, it is better to have his laugh with- 
out his nonsense.’’ 

‘‘Very good, faith!” said Hartley. “Lady 
Malvern, I am sure you would approve of my 
friend Congleton’s style of proceeding: when he 
is going to tell what he thinks a good story, he al- 
ways has his laugh first; — famous good plan that — 
it does not interfere with any body else’s laugh, 
and you may get out of the way before the story 
begins. I know most of Congleton’s pet jokes — 
you have no idea what fun it is to watch his man- 
oeuvres to bring them to bear. Nobody lays a 
train better. Poor Miss Cateaton! it was a shame, 
really — the other day, under pretence of helping 
her, he dropped an atlas upon her tender toes, and 
said that she had had all the world at her feet. I 
don’t think his joke was worth his trouble.” 

“ It was doubly cruel,” said Lady Malvern, 
“to a woman who never had a proposal — which, 
I am sure I don’t wonder at, though Agnes looks 
as if she did. ” 

“I certainly do,” replied Agnes. 

“ Then I am sure, my dear Agnes,” pursued 
her sister, “ you must have a peculiar talent for 
wondering. What could any body have seen in 
that plain, prim, old Miss Cateaton?” 

“ She was young once, and I should think pret- 
ty,” said Agnes; “and she must always have 
been good-humoured and pleasing.” 

“ I am glad you don’t say ‘pleasant.’ ‘ Pleas- 
ant’ and ‘ pleasing’ are very different — as much as 
‘amiable’ and ^ aimable.^ I dare say it is very 
possible that she may fully deserve the character, 
you give her, but one expects a great deal more in 
people that pretend to live in the world. Any 
thing like dowdiness would ruin an angel; if a wo- 
man has not fashion, she is quite lost — nothing can 
save her — the world does not stop to make dis- 
tinctions.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


49 


Louisa, you are hard upon the poor world,” 
said Agnes, with a smile. 

Oh, I can give you instances,” continued 
Lady Malvern, in the same tone. Only look at 
those Lady Hornbys — poor girls! they are pretty, 
to be sure, though rather in a tame style — and I 
suppose they may be^ pleasing. • Then they have 
accomplishments, I am told, though they seldom 
bring them out with effect. But, after all, they 
are mere nobodies — they don’t get on.” 

Or go off, which is more important,” said Mrs. 
Poole. 

No,” added Lady Malvern, ‘‘ and they are 
never likely — they want fashion — they are not in 
the first set, nor ever will be. And then, poor crea- 
tures! where are they seen? They just creep to 
Almack’s, to help to fill the room on the first tw*o 
or three nights of the season; and nobody sees 
them any where afterwards. Then, Lord Bew- 
dley, their father, worthy man ! thinks of nothing 
but drill husbandry, and her ladyship of garden- 
ing; and they allow themselves to be always sur- 
rounded by a set of hum-drum relations. It is ve- 
ry injurious to the girls, in town especially; and I 
wonder they suffer it.” 

They are certainly very kind to their rela- 
tions,” said Agnes, ‘‘ and I like them for it; and 
for their independence. They never struggle and 
manoeuvre for introductions and invitations; they 
never beg, and flatter, and expose themselves to 
more trouble, and more humiliation too, than so- 
ciety is really worth. I should say of them, that 
they liked society for its own sake. They have 
no ambitious feelings of finery and exclusiveness; 
they go to see those whom they really like, and 
not to be seen themselves. It always seems to me 
that there is much more real dignity in their quiet, 
unostentations mode of proceeding, than there is 
in that of many others, who have been always 
VoL. I. 5 


50 


HERBERT LAClTr 


striving to get on, and think themselves entitled 
to look down upon them.’^ 

<^0h, I agree with you,’^ said Mrs. Poole; 
hate pushing people — mere fashion is as bad as 
no fashion. There are the Penleys — look at them; 
there is an instance of mere fashion. They are 
people of neither family nor fortune; they have 
been living for the world, and at the world, and 
;are always studying effect — laying trains for invi- 
tations, and angling for acquaintances. As soon 
as the labours of the town season are over, they set 
off to the watering places in search of ‘ Desirables.’ 
The daughters are fine showy girls, but not quite 
to my taste; they are what my friend. Lady Ash- 
borne, calls ‘ laboriously elegant ’ — so maniSree — 
so dressy- — always tricked out wth such wonder- 
ful care in the newest Frenchifications. But gen- 
tlemen are the best judges of ladies. What should 
you say of them, Mr. Lacy?” 

What one might say of most French- women,” 
replied Lacy, ^‘that they look like figures step- 
ping out of the leaves of the ‘Journal des Modes.’ 
I hope they would take my remark as a compli- 
ment.” 

“ I would not be sure of that,” said Hartley. 
“ They have never forgiven me for asking whe- 
ther they communicate with their Paris milliner 
by telegraphs or carrier pigeons.” 

“ I think yoti are all rather severe upon the 
Miss Penleys,” said Agnes. “ I won’t try to de- 
fend them against the shocking imputation of being 
always too well dressed. I am afraid they are 
guilty, and, of course, they must bear the dread- 
ful consequences. Perhaps, too, they may seem 
rather manieree — ^that I allow — but I don’t think 
they are really affected.” 

“ Manieree^ and not affected!” interrupted 
Lady Malvern. “ Nay, Agnes, have some pity 
for my weak comprehension; I cannot understand 


HERBERT LACY. 


51 


such fine distinctions. Pray, enlighten me. What 
is the difference?” 

There is almost as much,” said Agnes, with 
a smile, as you lately made out between ‘ pleas- 
ant’ and ‘ pleasing. ’ ” 

A fair retort,” said Lady Malvern, ^ though 
not an explanation. But you cannot say that the 
Penleys are not pushing, manoeuvring people. I 
don’t know, otherwise, how you will account for 
their having got on so well.” 

‘‘They are agreeable,” said Agnes, “and the" 
daughters handsome, and that must account for a 
great deal.” 

“Perhaps so,” replied Lady Malvern; “but 
that does not excuse their being such inveterate 
match-hunters. They are always cruising after a 
good ‘ partie;’ always thinking of an establish- 
ment.” 

“And never succeeding,” said Mrs. Poole. 

“ And yet,” observed Agnes, “ they are said 
to be able manoeuvrers, and to make this their prin- 
cipal object. I think their not succeeding ought 
almost to acquit them.” 

“Well, Agnes,” resumed Lady Malvern, “we 
won’t attack them any longer. ]3ut I cannot like 
them, and never did since I heard them so be- 
praised by that odious Lady Dartford. By the 
by, Mrs. Poole, how dreadfully Lady Dartford 
plays? Did you hear what she lost one evening, 
about a fortnight ago, at Brighton?” 

“My dear Louisa!” exclaimed Agnes, in a tone 
of expostulation. 

“Twelve hundred pounds in the course of an 
evening,” continued Lady Malvern, not attend- 
ing. 

“ Nay,” said Agnes, “let me give you all the 
particulars; I am much more circumstantial. Re- 
port tells me that the pounds were guineas, and 


52 


HERBERT LACY. 


that she was obliged to leave in pledge her watch.. 
her rings, a fan, and a smelling bottle. 

Foolish girl! Agnes only says this to discre- 
dit the story. The fact is, Mrs Poole, that she 
won't hear any thing against Lady Dartford, though 
she must know her passion for play.^^ 

Well,’^ replied Agnes, I believe I must bear 
witness against her. I have seen her wonderfully 
eager at cards, even when she was playing for the 
merest trifle. I particularly remember her once 
losing two sovereigns at loo, and I assure you that 
in my opinion she bore her loss extremely ill.’’ 

Lacy smiled, and showed, by the look which he 
directed towards Agnes, that he appreciated her 
mode of defence. ‘^Miss Morton,” said he, a mo- 
ment afterwards, ‘‘ you will encourage me to at- 
tack your friends for the pleasure of hearing you 
defend them.” 

Good nature (in its more enlarged and nobler 
sense) is so bright an ornament in a youthful 
female mind — an ornament for the want of which 
no brilliancy can compensate — that, in as much 
as Lacy had at first decided that, without this 
quality, he never could admire Miss Morton, so 
did he, upon discovering that she really possessed 
it, begin to like her much better than, three days 
before, he would have considered possible. This 
change in his opinion soon betrayed itself in a cor- 
responding change of manner; and, instead of the 
distant coldness which he at first constrained him- 
self to observe, he now evinced an interest, an at- 
tention, which was not unnoticed by Agnes, and 
could hardly fail to be in some degree flattering. 

The following day produced an accession to the 
party at Huntley, in the person of Lord Midhurst, 
son of the Earl of Skipton, and his fric.id Mr! 
Luscombe. Lacy was acquainted with both, and 
looked forward to the coming of the former with 


HERBERT LACY. 


S3 


some curiosity and interest. It was not that he 
cared much about him, individually; but his atten- 
tion had been excited by a circumstance which oc- 
curred the day before. Lady Appleby happened 
to mention that she expected Lord Midhurst, and, 
as she said this, Lacy observed that Lady Mal- 
vern directed a very significant look of satisfaction 
towards her sister, who, on meeting her eye, smil- 
ed, blushed, and turned away. From these short 
glances it was easy to collect that Lady Malvern 
believed Lord Midhurst to be an admirer of her 
sister, of which Agnes seemed not unconscious; 
and her ladyship’s air of pleasure showed that she 
drew favourable auguries from their approaching 
interview. Lacy also considered Lord Midhurst 
to be one who, if matrimonially disposed, and not 
satisfied with mere flirtation, was not likely to sue 
in vain. He was good looking and good humour- 
ed ; a young man of great expectations, lively spi- 
rits, frank address, and manners of the world. He 
was not, however, either clever or well informed; 
had few pretensions to wit himself, and rarely per- 
ceived it in others. Nevertheless, he contrived to 
fill, very creditably, the character of an “agreea- 
ble rattle,” and was thought by many to be enter- 
taining. He was quick and vivacious; and, by 
dint of letting his tongue run unrestrained, some- 
times blurted out a good thing. His taste embrac- 
ed sports of almost every description. Of those 
which come under the title of accomplishments, 
dancing alone he liked, from its sociability and 
gaiety: in music and painting he was a perfect 
Goth. With books, even of the lightest kind, he 
had not much acquaintance; indeed, as he said “ , e 
had no time for them.” He was gay, jovial, light 
hearted, and thoughtless; had a tolerably correct 
impression of right and wrong; and, though he 
possessed not fquite the self-denial of an anchorite, 
could make small sacrifices with a pretty good 
5 ^ 


54 


HERBERT LACY. 


grace; and was, when unbiassed by bad example, 
commendably disposed to do what was right. 

Lord Midhurst’s companion, Mr. Luscoinbe, was 
a gentleman now on the verge of forty; but who, 
in spite of the visible ravages of tell-tale Time, 
still endeavoured to affect the stripling, always 
joined the most youthful group in company, and 
danced and prattled with very young ladies, with 
all the zest of one-and-twenty. He was a person 
very slightly endowed with the advantages either 
of birth, fortune, talents, or appearance; and who 
owed his success in society chiefly to his good hu- 
mour, and to a certain ductility of character which 
enabled his acquaintance to mould him easily to 
their will. He was a pattern of utility and compli- 
ance: no person served more purposes, or served 
them with greater willingness. He was always 
useful to fill a gap in a party, and to help to make 
things go off well: was set at the end of the table 
when the lady of the house retired to the side; 
would either tell a story himself, or be the subject 
of another’s; could make a fourth at whist, ^vhen 
wanted; knew when to press a lady to the instru- 
ment; and was invaluable to dance wdth little misses 
at their first ball. Above all things, he w'as an in- 
imitable butt; for he not only patiently received 
the gibes of his assailants, but invited their attacks 
by seeming to enjoy them. He understood a joke 
well; knew both how to laugh, and to listen; and 
had sufficient tact to abstain from w^earying any one 
with his owm discourse. He did a little of every 
thing tolerably ill, and was consequently a useful 
foil upon most occasions. The awkward squad of 
a shooting party would generally make bold to bet 
that they would kill more game than Luscombe; 
and bad indeed must be the billiard player, whom 
he did not put in good spirits. In short he was one 
of those passive persons, who seem to fill in mo- 
dern society a similar situation to that, which was 


HERBERT LACY. 55 

formerly borne by the court fool in the establish- 
ments of feudal princes. 

Of these two new visiters, Lord Midhurst excited 
the greatest share of Lacy’s attention, from the ar- 
dent admiration, which he instantly displayed for 
Agnes Morton. Lacy had now an opportunity of 
seeing that lady in a new light, and in so doing, he 
felt an interest, which, on consideration, startled 
and surprised him ; and he wondered at his own cu- 
riosity in watching the progress of a flirtation, in 
which he was so little concerned. 

Agnes received the very evident homage of her 
admirer, with great ease and composure, and laugh- 
ed and talked with perfect willingness, but with 
that unconcern that evinced no thought either of 
attracting or repelling. Lacy would have approved 
of her manner, if he could have thought it natural : 
but this he would not allow, and viewed it only as 
the result of practice and design. He became angry 
with Agnes, for showing herself so finished a co- 
quette, little suspecting that nothing but a slight de- 
gree of jealousy in his own breast, could ever have 
suggested such an idea. He also began to augur 
ill of her taste and understanding, in being so much 
entertained with such a mere chatterer as Lord 
iMidhurst. 

Love, which unseals the lips of all, had made his 
lordship more than usually voluble. ‘Ht was very 
cruel in you,” said he, ‘‘to leave town so terribly 
early. It grew so stupid- after you went!” 

“ Then I seem to have left it at the right time,” 
said Agnes. 

“ No, faith! you must not say that, for it was not 
stupid to every body — only to me. Upon my 
honour, when you were gone, I grew so dull and 
melancholy, that if you had seen me, you would not 
have known me. They used to quiz me dread- 
fully. A friend of mine came up to me in the 


56 


HERBERT LACY. 


Park, and asked me on what day I meant to shoot 
myself.’’ 

‘‘How very severe!” said Agnes, laughing. 
“Do tell me your friend’s name, that I may know 
whom I ought to be afraid of.” 

“ Nay, that is too good, upon my honour,” said 
Lord Midhurst: “he ought to be afraid of you. 
You know you can be very severe. You ladies al- 
ways beat us men in that. But I like people to be 
severe. I wish you had stayed in town, to have 
been at the Wharton’s dejeune. You never saw' 
such a wo-begone business. It rained all day, as 
if it had never rained before. Half the people 
looked so hazy! as if the fog had got into their 
faces. It was altogether capital fun; I never en- 
joyed myself more. Then, afterwards, we had a 
fancy ball — uncommonly good that was too. What 
character do you think I went in?” 

“A sombre one, I hope; for it would have been 
extremely painful to affect a cheerfulness that you 
did not feel.” 

“Ah! now, really that is too bad — cruel, faith, 
to remind a man of his misfortunes; for all that 
time, I was the most miserable dog on the face of 
the earth, seriously, without joking.” 

“Without joking! That I conclude. Miserable 
people seldom joke. ” 

Much more passed in the same strain. Lord Mid- 
hurst talking on, with heedless, blundering viva- 
city, and Agnes playfully unravelling his incon- 
sistencies. 

Lacy, though amused, was not altogether satis- 
fied. He thought that Agnes appeared to take a 
greater pleasure in the conversation and attentions 
of her admirer, than was quite consistent with what, 
he knew, must be her real estimate of his under- 
standing. He thought her vanity was flattered by 
his homage, and that she was pleased with an op- 


HERBERT LACT. 


57 


portunity of displaying her conquest. In conver- 
sation with Lord Midhurst, she also seamed to ex- 
hibit a careless familiarity with the scenes and cha- 
racters of fashionable life, which Lacy thought less 
real than affected; and which seemed to hold out 
claims to importance, which he was rather disposed 
to deride. 

It is truly a pity,” said he to himself, ‘‘that 
one of such beauty, elegance, and talent, is so little 
sensible of the ridicule to which she exposes her- 
self, by this vulgar aspiration, after a station and 
consequence, which her extraction must deny her.’' 

These reflections recalled, in some degree, his 
first feeling of dislike; and, unconscious of any un- 
due arrogance in himself, he began to wish that 
such false pride might have a fall, and even took 
an uncharitable pleasure in the prospect of Miss 
Morton’s receiving some signal mortification. 


58 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER VL 


Une froideur, ou une incivilite, que vieiit de ceux qui sont 
au dessus de nous, nous les fait hair ; mais un salut ou unsou 
rire nous les reconcilie. 

Buuyebe. 

Hitherto we have heard nothing of Lord Ap- 
pleby. At this, however, let nobody be surprised, 
for he was not a person much calculated to attract 
attention any where, though decidedly more con- 
spicuous in his own house than in any other. He 
was inoffensive, mild, and amiable. His chief 
merit in society was that of being a perfect gentle- 
man: his countervailing demerits, vanity and dul- 
ness. His conversation was languid and common 
place; and its only approach to piquancy, consisted 
in a querulous tone of sickly fastidiousness. His 
vanity was of a harmless kind, which few refused 
to humour, and was chiefly displayed in an over- 
weaning admiration of every thing that belonged to 
himself. His place, house, books, pictures, what- 
ever he had, was infinitely better than any body 
else could possibly possess: while, at the same time, 
he disclaimed receiving from them any positive 
pleasure, and always lamented the trouble and vex- 
ation which they entailed upon him. 

On the following morning, Lacy was indulging 
him with a few civil comments upon the beauties 
of Huntley, and complimenting him upon his libe- 
rality, in throwing it open to the inspection of the 
curious. 


HERBERT LACY. 


59 


‘*Mr. Lacy,” said his lordship, inwardly delight- 
ed with the subject, but looking the picture of mi- 
sery and disgust; ‘‘never have a show house. I 
assure you, having tried it, that the plague, and 
the nuisance, and the annoyance, and the trouble, 
are something perfectly inconceivable. Day after 
day, people come, and they are admitted ; and in 
they walk, and away they ramble through your 
rooms, and go where you will, there you meet 
them. As I say, for the time being, you are not 
master of your own house; your house, as. I say, is 
not your own: you are not master of youi% own 
house. It is indeed a serious drawback from the 
trifling satisfaction of having things that are consi- 
dered worth seeing.” 

Lacy assented; but said that it must be very 
gratifying to think that he had the means of giving 
so much pleasure, and, perhaps, of improving the 
taste of his visiters. 

“Ah, yes — very true — -it ought to be gratifying, 
of course; though I must honestly confess that I do 
it rather as a duty than as any source of gratification. 
I have tried to remedy the evil by restricting ad- 
mission to certain days — but all in vain; it would 
not do — the throng of applicants was too great. 
“ You see,’' he observed pointing out two carriages 
which appeared in a distant part of the approach, 
“ a case in point — see how we are pestered. I shall 
just have time before they arrive to show you the 
picture I was mentioning,” and so saying, taking 
Lacy by the arm, he led him into another room. 

Meanwhile the carriages approached, and at 
length drew up before the door. The first was a 
substantial travelling coach, which was closely fol- 
lowed by a hack chaise. Doth belonged to the 
same party, which, on being landed from their ve- 
hicles, appeared to consist of a stout middle aged 
gentleman, and his plump wife, three slim young 


60 


HERBERT LACY. 


ladies, and a tall slip of a boy. Their motions were 
observed from the window of the room which Lacy 
and Lord Appleby had just quitted, and in which 
remained only Lady Malvern and her sister, of 
whom the former, hearing that they were not visi- 
ters of the family, and judging them vulgar from 
the air of their equipage, thought she might safely 
indulge in the pleasure of a stare. 

What beings!’*^ she exclaimed, as she watched 
them getting out of- their carriage. Agnes, do 
come and look at them — those tawdry girls! arid 
the old people — quite as good — staring about them, 
I declare, as if they had never seen such a house 
before; and now he looks this way — good heavens! 

it is — no — yes, it certainly is ” 

Who?” said Agnes, approaching the window. 
Look!” said Lady Malvern, in a tone of alarm. 
Yes,” replied Agnes, there is no mistaking 
them. I see they are our cousins, the Bagshawes. ” 

‘‘Hush!” said her ladyship; “ come away, Ag- 
nes,” and she looked suspiciously round the room 
to see if any one was near. “ Take no notice,” 
she added, in a low tone. 

Agnes looked at her with surprise. “ I think I 
hardly understand you. Do you mean that I should 
take notice of them?^’ 

“ Yes, to be sure I did — why need you? — Sure- 
ly you don’t intend to go out and see them?” 

“ I do indeed.” 

“ Then, Agnes, you will disoblige me,” said 
Lady Malvern, walking away from her rather 
proudly. 

“ I should be sorry to do that,” replied Agnes; 
“ but I hope, Louisa, it will not be so; for I think 
you must acknowledge the propriety of paying 
some attention to such near relations.” 

“ They are not suchz^ery near relations; besides, 
it is their being related that makes the difficulty. 


HERBERT LACY. 


61 


You know what beings they are — one can never 
acknowledge them to the Applebys, and Lord 
Midhurst, and all that party.” 

I have no scruples on that point,” replied 
nes, calmly. “ Besides, Louisa, you should re* 
member that we are under obligations to them, 
which I could never forgive myself for neglecting 
to repay. You know how kind they were some 
time ago, before your marriage, when you all had 
the scarlet fever. You received particular atten* 
tion; I am sure you would not be ungrateful.” 

A self-reproving blush came over Lady Mal- 
vern’s countenance. 

Oh, I am sure I am quite sensible that what 
they did was very kind, and I shall always say so. 
But what good can we do by going out to see them 
now? That would be a very poor return.” 

I allow that it would. We should do them no 
real good, it is true, but we should give them plea- 
sure, at any rate. ” 

I don’t know that. I dare say they had ra- 
ther look over the house at their ease, without be- 
ing put out of the way by us. You know they are 
all in their travelling dishabille: our presence would 
only distress them. Besides, if we keep quiet 
they will never know that we were here. ” 

“lam not sure of that,” said Agnes; “I think 
they saw us. But, whether they did or not, I 
should equally reproach myself for having treated 
them unkindly.” 

“ See them, by all means,” said Lady Malvern; 
but do not draw me into seeing them too; one of 
the family surely is enough.” 

“ No,” said Agnes; “ if I see them, you must; 
or else the neglect on your side will undo all the 
pleasure arising from any civility that I can show. 
There is no use in hanging back: the relationship 
must be known. I feel their vulgarity as strongly 
as you can, but I know that they are worthy peo- 
VoL I. 6 


62 


HERBERT LACY- 


pie; and, as for their manners, we must take them 
as we find them;’^ and, so saying, putting her arni 
within her sister’s, she walked with her out of the 
room. 

Mrs. Bagshawe was the first cousin of Mr. Mor- 
ton, being the daughter of his father’s elder bro- 
ther, who, as he had risen less in affluence, had 
not been enabled to give equal refinement to his 
descendants. Mrs. Bagshawe was a good-hearted, 
but ignorant and vulgar woman, and had now been 
for many years the wife of a respectable London 
attorney, who, without much ability, had, by dint 
of industry, and a character for punctuality and in- 
tegrity, amassed a comfortable fortune. In fact, 
he felt himself sufficiently wealthy to take frequent 
relaxations from his professional labours, and to in- 
dulge himself and family with a little pleasure- 
hunting in the summer. Such was their present 
object. They had been at Cheltenham, and were 
going to the Lakes, and stopped in their way to 
view the beauties of Huntley Park. They had 
got into the first room of the show suite, had ob- 
tained catalogues and an attendant, and had asked 
a few questions, when a door was opened, and in 
walked Lady Malvern and Miss Morton. There 
was much real surprise on the part of the Bag- 
shawes, which was answered by a little well affect- 
ed astonishment from' Lady Malvern, who chose 
to prevent her attention from being too overpow- 
ering, by pretending to stumble upon them una- 
wares. The office, therefore, of setting both par- 
ties more at their ease, seemed to devolve upon 
Agnes, who greeted them all with much cordiality. 
Lady Malvern stiffly bent her head, coldly said 
that she was glad to meet them, and made languid 
inquiries respecting their healths and arrangements. 
The Bagshawes, at first, could think of nothing but 
the happy chance which brought them together. 

So strange and so lucky as it is, to be sure, 


HERBERT LACY. 


63 


said Mrs. Bagshawe, ‘‘that we and your ladyship 
should just be coming to look at this place at the 
same time! It is odd we didn’t meet on the road,” 

Lady Malvern informed her, with a smile of 
superiority, that they were staying there on a 
visit. 

“Indeed! I am sure I ask your pardon,” said 
Mrs. Bagshawe, with rather a puzzled look of as- 
tonishment, as if she now comprehended, for the 
first time, that show houses were made to be lived 
in. A pause ensued; and Mr. Bagshawe, a fat, 
prim, civil looking man, with a ludicrous assump- 
tion of courtliness in his manner, smirked, threw 
his short body into various contortions, and with a 
little impressive shake of the head, politely hoped 
the Viscount w’as well. 

“ If you mean Lord Malvern,” said her lady- 
ship, “ he is very well. He is here too.” 

“ And the Earl and Countess of Rodborough,” 
pursued Mr. Bagshawe, who w^as determined to do 
the “civil thing,” effectually: “they, I trust are 
also enjoying that health which all must wish 
them. I hope the Earl has not suffered from his 
long and strict attention to the duties of the House 
of Lords?” 

Lady Malvern bowed her head, and murmured 
something not very intelligible. 

“ It must be a great satisfaction to his lordship,” 
Mr. Bagshawe proceeded, “ after having ably ful- 
filled his senatorial duties, to revisit once more his 
native wilds, if I may be allowed the expression, 
in alluding to his splendid seat at Westcourt. 
How delightful to find himself in that dignified re- 
tirement, that happy union of ease and grandeur 
which, I must confess, is most truly enviable.” 

Here Mr. Bagshawe suddenly stopped; not for 
lack of w’^ords, for he was prepared to have spun 
out the sentence to double its length; or of incli- 
nation, for he thought himself a fine talker, and, 


64 


HERBERT LACY. 


like most persons of that persuasion, loved to hear 
himself speak; but he was arrested by the abrupt 
leave which Lady Malvern took of them, while, 
as she walked away. Lord Appleby made his ap- 
pearance at another door. 

Agnes was hurt at the uncivil suddenness of her 
sister’s departure, and resolved to repair it by 
staying with the Bagshawes, and undergoing the 
penance of accompanying them through the rooms. 
The unpleasantness of her situation was increased 
by the sudden entrance of Lord Appleby, who, 
finding himself in the same room, and seeing that 
they were friends of hers, advanced towards them 
with the civil intention of paying his personal re- 
spects, at the same time looking at Agnes in a way 
that showed his expectation that she would perform 
the ceremony of an introduction. This was ac- 
cordingly done, and Agnes then hoped that, after 
a few bows, and a few more words on either’ side, 
the conference would be ended. 

But Mr. Bagshawe, pleased with such a digni- 
fied accession to his acquaintance, and anxious to 
acquit himself of a flourishing eulogium, which lay 
ready on his tongue’s end, after a prefatory hem, 
and a glance round the room, addressed his lord- 
ship in a style which foreboded any thing rather 
than a brief interview. 

Your walls, my lord,” said he, waving his 
hand, are well filled with food for the eye of taste. 
I must confess I was not prepared for such a ban- 
quet as your lordship spreads before your visiters. 

I was told that I should be dazzled; but my ex- 
pectations are quite exceeded, and I hope I may 
be allowed to congratulate your lordship on the 
possession of this noble, indeed I may say, this 
peerless collection.” 

The beautiful appropriateness of this speech was, 
in a great measure, lost upon Lord Appleby: but 
without reflecting that his eulogist had not yet 


HERBERT LACV. 


65 


seen more than a small and inferior part of the col- 
lection which he so warmly commended, he per- 
ceived that praise and admiration were the objects 
of his address, and with these, however adminis- 
tered, he was always disposed to be satisfied. He 
had a keen perception of vulgarity, and a pride 
which usually shrunk from the contamination of 
its approach: but his pride was less active than his 
vanity ; and in order to gratify the latter with flat- 
tery, even of so broad and clumsy a description, 
he condescended, from pure good-nature, as he 
thought, to prolong his civilities to the Bagshawes. 
He smiled, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, rais- 
ed his eyebrows, allowed that he had some good 
things, and then, afiecting an air of fastidious in- 
difference, vouchsafed to point out some of the ob- 
jects which were most worthy of their attention. 

There is a picture,’^ said he, pointing to a 
small Correggio, which I am not sorry to have 
got. I imported it myself. No one knows,^’ he 
added, shaking his head, with a piteous look, no 
one knows the trouble, and the money, and what 
not, which that small picture cost me — not more 
than I thought it was worth; but more I verily be- 
lieve, than any other picture I have.^^ 

‘‘Only think! such a small one as.it is!’’ ex- 
claimed Mrs. Bagshawe, measuring it with her 
eye, and looking from it with surprise, to a gigan- 
tic Sneyders which hung above. 

“Quite a gem!” said Mr. Bagshawe, who had 
gathered from the lips of Christie and Phillips, a 
few choice specimens of the phraseology of the 
auction room. “A very capital bit of the master, 
and in a remarkable fine condition. Your lord- 
ship deserves the thanks of the country for secur- 
ing us such a treasure. Correggio is very scarce, 
my lord; we don’t see him every day. In good 
preservation he is invaluable. Money can hardly 
buy him pure.” 


6 ^ 


66 


HERBERT LACY. 


Lord Appleby made a grave inclination of as- 
sent, his better taste beginning to take a slight 
alarm at the professional tone of his visiter’s re- 
marks, and he directed his attention somewhat im- 
patiently to another picture. 

Uncommon fine, indeed, my lord!” exclaimed 
Mr. Bagshawe. ‘‘The air of the head is beautiful 
— so flowing! — so — and then, what a depth! What 
a — look at it, my dear. Mrs. B., my lord, is fond 
of the arts as well as I. We have all our little turn 
that way. Only look at it, my dear; see what a 
breadth there is about it! I never saw such a 
breadth in my life!” 

“ It is not so broad as the picture next to it,” 
said the lady, very innocently, and in an under 
tone, as if to correct her husband’s mistake. Lord 
Appleby heard the remark, and the well-bred cor- 
ners of his mouth, exhibited, for a moment, the least 
possible disposition to smile. Mr. Bagshawe frown- 
ed at his wife, and fidgetted across the room. “Ha!” 
said he, glad to change the subject, “ an old ac- 
quaintance, I perceive. I saw the original of this 
at Milan. It is really a very perfect copy.” 

A cloud passed over Lord Appleby’s brow at 
mention of the word “copy,” and he felt as only 
a collector can feel. 

“I never hang up copies,” he replied, suppress- 
ing with a laudable efibrt, his generous glow of in- 
dignation. “This is a duplicate^ if you will; but 
equally original with the picture at Milan. Oh, 
you shall be convinced. Sir,” said he, to the hum- 
bled and apologizing Mr. Bagshawe, who was back- 
ing out of the scrape, with all the cumbrous dex- 
terity of a well-trained dray-horse, “you shall be 
convinced: you shall take nothing on my bare as- 
sertion. I will show you a remarkable variation, 
that, in my humble opinion, is quite conclusive. 
Look at the right foot of the left hand figure; on 
that foot are six toes. Now, Sir, I ask you, as a 


HERBERT LACY. 


67 


judge of painting, would a servile copyist have done 
that? would any but the easy, negligent hand of the 
master? Impossible, every way impossible. That 
sixth toe decides the question.’^ 

Mr. Bagshawe hastened to repair his error by 
promptly assenting to his lordship’s remark, and 
assured him, that the sixth toe was a hundred 
pounds in the picture’s way in any auction room 
in London. But Lord Appleby, although appeas- 
ed, had, by this time, seen quite enough of the par- 
ty; for though he could have borne with the tech- 
nical admiration of Mr. Bagshawe, he was greatly 
disgusted with the rest of the family. Poor Mrs. 
Bagshawe he set down for an ignoramus; the girls 
had giggled too much at the toe, and had been 
shamefully inattentive to all the higher objects of 
curiosity. As for the son, 'a gawky, semi-dandified 
youth, in the debateable age between boyhood and 
manhood, who seemed thoroughly gene with his 
padded coat and stiff cravat, and who, to the dis- 
comfiture of his lordship’s nervous system, had 
kept up an incessant tattoo with a small switch 
upon the side of his boot; his only audible remai-k 
that had any reference to the pictures, was once, 
when, after cocking his eye at a large hunting piece 
by Sneyders, he observed to one of his sisters, that 
the hindermost dog had a cross of the bull.” 

This remark contributed, among other things, to 
accelerate the departure of his lordship, who was 
seriously wounded by any thing that attacked the 
credit of his pictures; who had too much politeness 
to vent his contempt, and too much pride to stoop 
to correct the misconceptions of the junior branch- 
es of this hopeful family. He, therefore, with a 
gracious inclination of the head, and a circling look 
that wandered from the Bagshawes to Agnes, hoped 
that her friends would receive every gratification 
which his collection could afford, and to her great 
relief withdrew. 


68 


HERBERT LACTT. 


Scarcely was the door closed, when the Bag- 
shawes began their comments upon Lord Appleby. 
Mrs. Bagshawe said he was an elegant man and had 
not an ounce of pride about him. Miss Bagshawe 
remarked, with much discrimination, that though 
he was not much of a beau now, he looked as if he 
had been one; while her sisters evinced much sur- 
prise that a lord who lived in such a fine house 
should wear such a shabby watch-ribbon. Dick, the 
son, made no remark; but his father supplied his 
deficiencies by entering at large into the character 
of Lord Appleby. 

“I am extremely well satisfied with his lord- 
ship,” said he. “ He is a truly agreeable man, 
Miss Morton, and a gentlemanly man, and a sensi- 
ble man, and a man of a fine mind. I feel to un- 
derstand his character as well as if I. had known 
him all my life. A little blind — allow me to say 
it — a little blind on a certain subject,” looking sig- 
nificantly at the pictures; “ for, between ourselves,” 
speaking almost in a whisper, though there was no 
one near by whom he feared to be overheard; be- 
tween ourselves, there is a great deal of rubbish in 
this collection, things for which I would not give 
with a contemptuous snap of the fingers; 

far from genuine, I assure you, though here and 
there is a pretty bit. 1 hope,” he added, with a 
complacent smile at the recollection of his own ad- 
dress, ‘‘you did not think that I went too far in 
humouring his lordship’s foible? I saw he liked a 
little praise, which I was careful to administer. 
This was one of those cases, Miss Morton, when 
it is allowable to scatter dust in a great man’s 
eyes.” 

Agnes smiled, partly at the awkward vanity of 
lier relation, who flattered himself that he had play- 
ed the courtier with success, and partly through 
amusement at hearing Lord Appleby seriously call- 
ed a great man. She felt acutely the vulgarity of 


HERBERT LACY. 


69 


her relations, and saw all the ridicule that their 
awkwardness and pretension must excite in any of 
the well-bred inmates of the house, no others of 
whom she devoutly hoped might cross their path. 
Above all she dreaded lest they should encounter 
the eye of Lacy; for whose opinion she had already 
begun to conceive much respect, and among whose 
qualities she observed a great quickness to the de- 
tection of absurdities. She felt much uneasiness 
in the anticipation of his meet^ing them, as she con- 
templated the groupe before her. There was squab, 
puffy Mr. Bagshawe, with his perked-up head, and 
an important strut; his dowdy wife, whom a rich 
pelisse strove in vain to render lady-like, with her 
hot, homely face, and dusty bonnet; the priggish 
apprentice-like cub of a son; the three girls in ill- 
chosen finery, soiled by the journey, the two 
youngest minutely inspecting the furniture, while 
the eldest affected a languid air of sovereign dis- 
regard for every thing around her. 

While engaged in this review, Agnes heard ap- 
proaching footsteps in the next room, and thought, 
with horror, that they were those of Lacy. Her 
worst apprehensions were verified; for in another 
instant he appeared. The room they were in, was 
a passage room, which he was obliged to traverse 
in order to join his party at the other side of the 
house; and she consoled herself with thinking that 
there was no probability that he would do more 
than walk hastily through it. She perceived, how- 
ever, that his eye, on entering, rapidly surveyed 
the groupe with that air of satisfaction, with which 
an adept at quizzing always seizes a good subject; 
and this caused her no slight uneasiness. It was, 
indeed, a critical moment. Mrs. Bagshawe was 
extracting from her pocket a collection of biscuits 
wrapped up in whitey-brown paper: the second 
girl was measuring with her fingers, the breadth 
of the lace on the window curtain; while the young- 


70 


HERBERT LACY. 


est was peeping at a handsome footstool under the 
sofa. The son, stationed opposite a pier glass, had 
just perceived, to his infinite horror, that by in- 
cautiously fingering his cravat, he had left imprint- 
ed on it in many a dusty stain, the marks of his 
new yellow gloves; and Mr. Bagshawe, with one 
eye shut, and a roll of paper applied to the other, 
was examining a picture, and walking backwards 
to try the effect at different distances. 

It was at this moment that Lacy, after a short 
look of astonishment at finding Agnes with such a 
party, attempted to pass behind Mr. Bagshawe. 
The space was small, the obstructions of furniture 
numerous as usual, Lacy’s attention much divided, 
and our unsuspicious connoisseur, absorbed in the 
contemplation of higher objects, steadily continu- 
ing his retrograde course. The consequence was 
that few steps were taken, on either side, before 
the parties came into contact. Straightway each 
started back, and a thousand pardons were begged 
in an instant. Exclamations, and somewhat of a 
giggle, escaped from Mrs. and the Misses Bag- 
shawe. Agnes could not restrain a smile, though 
rather uneasy at the addition of any circumstance 
which could help to swell Lacy’s budget of ridi- 
cule. 

But slight, indeed, was her horror Men, com- 
pared with that which she experienced a moment 
after, when each gentleman, on recovering from 
his surprise, exchanged a look of recognition: 

Mr. Bagshawe, I believe,” and ‘^Ha! Mr. I^a- 
cy,” escaped severally from their lips, and before 
another second could elapse, they had actually 
shaken hands. 

Conversation now became unavoidable. It com- 
menced with inquiries from Mr. Bagshawe res- 
pecting the circumstances of their rencontre, and 
exclamations of surprise at his good fortune, in 
meeting at once so many friends. 


HERBERT LACY. 


71 


So many friends!” repeated Lacy to himself, 
and stole an inquiring glance at Agnes, who was 
then talking to Miss Bagshawe, and did not notice 
his appealing look. 

Mrs. B., Mr. Lacy, my dear, that was so civil 
to me abroad,” said Mr. Bagshawe to his wife, 
rushing, with bustling eagerness, into the business 
of introduction. ‘‘ Mr. Lacy, Mrs. Bagshawe; 
our junior branches,” pointing to his family, my 
daughters; my son Richard, our eldest hope — all 
come to view the house. You met me last. Sir, 
on a foreign tour, you now meet me on a home 
tour — a curious coincidence. The fact is, we have 
been at Cheltenham and are now on our way to 
the Lakes. It is our usual practice, Mr. Lacy, to 
go somewhere every year.” 

Here Mrs. Bagshawe chimed in with a declara- 
tion that a little outing did them all a world of 
good. 

Yes, pursued her husband, eagerly translating 
her simple meaning into his more ostentatious 
phraseology; ‘‘ we derive much benefit from our 
excursions, benefit both to our minds and bodies, 
as I sometimes observe to Mrs. B. Depend upon 
it there is nothing like travelling. Was not it Dr. 
Johnson, Sir, who said there was no pleasure in 
life like moving rapidly in a post-chaise?” 

Lacy assented. 

We came in our own carriage,” said Mrs. 
Bagshawe, who feared lest any misconception 
should arise from her husband’s quotation in praise 
of an humbler mode of conveyance. 

“ True, my dear, so we did. A noble mansion, 
this, Mr. Lacy, and worthy of a noble owner. I 
have just been talking to his lordship. His lord- 
ship did us the honour to pass through and point 
out one or two of the pictures that were most wor- 
thy of our attention. ” He then proceeded to en- 


72 


HERBERT LACY, 


large upon the subject of*Lord Appleby, his house, 
and his collection, repeating by the way many of 
the remarks which he had previously made to 
Agnes. 

Much of this desertation was, however, lost 
upon Lacy, whose thoughts had been otherwise di- 
verted by hearing the word cousin’^ applied to 
Agnes by Miss Bagshawe, and from that moment 
he had been attentive to the conversation of the 
two young ladies. Knowing the humble origin of 
the Mortons, it caused in him no great surprise to 
find that Agnes was related to vulgar people; yet 
still the contrast between their inelegance and her 
refinement was such as to create a momentary 
shock. He felt also some curiosity to see how 
she would conduct herself under circumstances so 
humiliating. 

During the conversation between Lacy and Mr. 
Bagshawe, Agnes had endeavoured to point out to^ 
her cousins those objects which she thought most 
likely to amuse them. Miss Bagshawe, with a 
silly, half-bred affectation, sometimes seeming to 
assume an air of superior taste, sometimes disclaim- 
ing all pretensions to any, disdained to be amused 
with any thing she saw around her, and tried to 
establish her pretensions to vivacity and worldly 
knowledge, by detailing some watering-place tittle- 
tattle, and chattering about balls and concerts. Her 
manner had become more affected since the appear- 
ance of Lacy, whose favourable notice she could 
not help wishing to attract. She was good looking, 
and might have been even admired if she could have 
let herself alone, and not, by dint of striving to be 
over mannerly, spoiled the effect of all that nature 
had done in her behalf. She tossed her head, rolled 
her eyes, giggled laboriously at nothing, and could 
not walk across the room without such multifarious 
contortions! such glidings, and sinkings, and sail- 


HERBERT LACY. 73 

ings, and divings! all which Lacy’s quick eye had 
unsparingly observed, and his suppressed smile of 
ridicule was, to Agnes, sufficiently intelligible. 

Had the object been an indifferent person, she 
might have been equally amused; but in the present 
instance she felt distressed for her cousin, who w'as 
quite incapable of perceiving the ridicule to which 
she exposed herself. 

All the shame which Agnes felt for Miss Bag- 
shawe, and still more, did this, young lady feel for 
the childish manners and simple curiosity of her 
younger sisters, who, being perfectly natural, con- 
veyed no similar impression to the minds of Agnes 
or of Lacy. Vulgar minds are often, most accessi- 
ble to the feelings of false shame, and Miss Bag- 
shawe was constantly in agonies at the hoydenish 
naivete of Misses Lucy and Arabella, who, unre- 
strained by the presence of Lacy, chattered unre- 
servedly, and attacked Agnes with frequent ques- 
tions, as, how old Lady Appleby was? how much 
the Miss Tyrwhitts spent in dress.^. whether they 
lived all the year upon venison? and whether the 
carpet upon which they were then walking was a 
Turkey one? 

What can it signify,” said Miss Bagshawe, 
in a reproving tone; then, turning to Agnes, ‘‘1 
assure you, cousin, I am not at all curious about the 
Appleby s. They tell me,” lowering her voice, 
^‘that Mr. T., the heir, is not by any means agree- 
able, at least that was what I heard at Cheltenham. 
Apropos, of that I ought to tell you that we have 
been very gay there. It really is the sweetest 
place ! I am sure if you had been there you would 
rave about it. There is such an immense deal of 
visiting! and that you like, I know you do; I am 
sure you are rather a rake at heart. We had as- 
semblies every week; and the country about it is 
all so lovely; we used to take such charming rides 
in our open carriage. ” 

VoL I. ' 7 


74 


HERBERT LACT. 


It is a barouche landau/’ said Miss Lucy. 

Well, child, I am not a coachmaker, nor my 
cousin either. Do learn to express yourself pro- 
perly. Such charming rides we used to take ! Oh, 
and we saw so many people that we knew! Yes, 
and we heard of you too,” said she, looking signifi- 
cantly; there were many pressing inquiries made 
after you, I assure you, by a certain gentleman 
that shall be nameless.” 

Poor gentleman,” said Agnes, why must he 
be nameless?” 

‘‘La, cousin! how can you?” said Miss Bag- 
shawe, surprised at her composure, and disappoint- 
ed in the expectation of rallying her into a silly dis- 
play of coquettish embarrassment. “ I am sure 
you must know whom I mean, a very old flirt of 
yours.” 

“ Very old is he? I am sure I don’t know, but 
l am prepared to feel a great respect for him.” 

“ Nay, but he is a young man.” 

“ Oh, I beg his pardon: a young man but an old 
flirt.” 

“Now are not you dying to know his name?” 
pursued Miss Bagshawe, vexed at having her inti- 
mation so calmly received. “ I am sure you must 
be curious. ’ ” 

“ I shall not object to your telling me.” 

“Well, then,” whispering, “Major Chatterley.” 

“ Oh! Major Chatterley,” repeated Agnes, aloud, 
without exhibiting more emotion at the explosion 
of this secret, than if a four-legged puppy had been 
the subject of their conversation. 

Nevertheless she was much annoyed at her cou- 
sin’s ill-bred tone of raillery, and the more so, as 
she was conscious that every syllable was heard by 
Lacy. She had, however, too much native dig- 
nity of feeling to allow herself to be’ disconcerted, 
and too much firm command of temper, to manifest, 
by word or look, the mingled feelings of vexation 


HERBERT LACY. 


75 


which she experienced during the visit. Her an- 
noyance had been greatest, and she had to struggle 
most earnestly against the suggestions of wounded 
pride, during the period of Lacy’s presence. She 
had already witnessed instances of the quickness 
with which he seized a subject for ridicule, and at 
the same time the ancient grudge between their 
houses had perhaps rendered her fearful of lowering 
her dignity in his eyes. Besides she knew his 
aristocratic prejudices, and probably contempt of 
her low connexions; and added to all this was a 
growing solicitude for his good opinion, which 
could not perhaps be traced to any of the above- 
mentioned causes, and of which she became con- 
scious for the first time. 

Little, however, need she have feared lest her 
association with the Bagshawes. should have lower- 
ed her in the estimation of Lacy. On the contrary, 
it had dispelled many of the impressions which he 
had allowed himself to entertain. He had thought 
her a deceptive being, tricked ouf in forced refine- 
ment, which not being of natural growth, would 
fade away under the influence of untoward situa- 
tion. He had now seen her undergo an ordeal 
quite as severe as his harshest wishes could have 
anticipated, and she had risen superior from the 
trial. Her unpretending frankness and kindness 
of manner, towards beings whom she must secret- 
ly despise, her cheerful endeavour to accommodate 
herself to their uncongenial natures, her uncon- 
scious superiority, displayed in spite of herself, in 
every word and gesture, all struck Lacy very for- 
cibly; and when he considered the contrast betw^een 
the afected graces of Miss Bagshawe, and the un- 
studied elegance of Agnes, he was hurt to think 
that he should have been led by prejudice to ima- 
gine, for an instant, that one particle of vulgarity 
could have existed in such a being. His eyes were 
suddenly opened ; a mist had been dispelled, and he 


76 


HERBERT LACY. 


found that he leaped at once from prejudice to ad- 
miration. 

Meanwhile, the Bagshawes were departing: but 
the trials of Agnes were not yet ended, though 
their greatest bitterness had ceased Adien Lacy 
quitted their party. It seemed as if the Bagshawes 
were destined to pass in review before every per- 
son whom that house contained; for, in the en- 
trance-hall, as if purposely to witness their cere- 
monious leave-taking, were Lord Midhurst, Mr. 
Luscombe, and one or two others. Agnes also had 
to answer several loud inquiries from her cousins, 
respecting the names of these gentlemen, which she 
doubted not they must have heard. Then followed 
a debate, carried on in a sonorous whisper, which 
hissed most audibly through the hall, about the ex- 
tent of the douceur which it would be proper to 
give to the attendant, and upon which important 
point, Agnes was entreated to decide. Then burst 
forth a loud rude giggle from the Misses Bagshawe 
and Master Richard, on detecting Pa,’^ who was 
inadvertently carrying off, in his pocket, a cata- 
logue of the pictures, which he was civilly informed 
by the servant in waiting, he was not allowed to 
take out of the house. 

At last they got to their carriage, and after much 
time consumed in arranging baskets of provisions, 
and settling who should sit backwards, to the great 
relief of Agnes, they kissed their hands to her, and 
departed. 


HERBERT LACY, 


77 


.CHAPTER VII. 


Perfections meeting in divers persons cannot choose but find 
one another, and delight in that they find ; for likeness of man- 
ners is likely in season to draw liking with affection. 

Sin Philip Sidnet. 

All the party assembled at Huntley had tact 
enough to understand that relations so little refined 
as the Bagshawes, would not afford an agreeable 
topic either to Lady Malvern or Miss Morton, and 
they therefore prudently abstained from any fur- 
ther mention of them. This consideration sealed 
the lips of Lacy, though he longed to hear what 
Agnes would say of them; and he was agreeably 
surprised when, without any appearance of restraint, 
she voluntarily introduced the subject. 

I hope,” said she, “ you will not think me too 
inquisitive, if I ask how you became acquainted 
with my relation, Mr. Bagshawe. He mention- 
ed something of services rendered him by you 
abroad.” 

They were scarcely worth recalling,” replied 
Lacy. “ Last year I met him at Milan. He had 
lost his way, and could not muster sufficient Italian 
to ask it; and I assisted him to the extent of my 
local knowledge, for which he was extremely grate- 
ful. He seems a good humoured, well meaning 
man. I had no idea that he was related to your 
family. ” 

Very likely,” replied Agnes; ^^but I suppose 
the discovery has not caused you much surprise. 

7 * 


78 


HERBERT LAcy. 


You know we can lay no claim to high descent 
Our family tree is but a sapling. 

If the fruit of a tree is good, we should not 
regard its age/’ said Lacy. 

Agnes acknowledged with a smile, and slight in- 
clination of the head, the complimentary tone of the 
observation, and added, ‘‘You are perhaps aware 
that we owe our rise to industry, and we have, 
therefore, no right to set up airs of superiority over 
those of our connexions, who have been only less 
early in profiting by the same advantages. Aristo- 
cratic feelings of hauteur, even if they are ever per- 
fectly commendable, are certainly misplaced in those 
who have so little claim to them.” 

Lacy made no reply to this observation, and 
thought it better to recur to what she had said pre- 
viously. 

“You said,” pursued he, “ that I could not have 
been surprised at the discovery of your relationship. 
Why will you do yourself such an injustice? In 
fact I was very much surprised at finding you in 
the midst of such a gi'oupe. I do not mean to under- 
value them. I can can easily believe that they arc 
very estimable people; but they belong to a class 
of society which must be totally unsuited to your 
habits. You can have nothing in common with 
them.” 

“ To be honest,” said she, “ there are circum- 
stances under which I feel very strongly the awk- 
wardness of the association; but this is only when 
they are taken out of the sphere which best suits 
them. Place me with them in their domestic cir- 
cle, where every thing was natural and unconstrain- 
ed, and, as a painter would say, ‘ in keeping,’ and 
I could enter easily, and with interest into all they 
thought, and did, and said; nay, I could take a 
pleasure in their company. Don’t suppose that any 
part of the pleasure would consist in laughing at 
them: that would be uncharitable; and, besides, I 


HERBERT LACT. 


79 


could not laugh at them there. People are seldom 
ridiculous, unless when taken out of their proper 
station, or when their vanity makes them strive to 
appear what they are not.’’ 

And is this the case with any of the party we 
saw this morning?” 

It is rather malicious in you to ask me a ques- 
tion that I am sure you can so well answer yourself. 
Yes, I cannot acquit them all. Mr. Bagshawe ra- 
ther too much affects virtu, and a pretty mode of 
expressing himself; but in other respects, when 
there is no immediate call for display, is a well 
judging, right hearted man. The eldest daughter 
is a little maniere — at least before company, 
though a quiet, good girl at home. In fact, she has 
seen just enough of society to spoil her a little, and 
not enough to do her good. As to the rest of the fa- 
mily, I never feel much disposed to smile at them; 
they are so perfectly natural; they show you so plain- 
ly what they are, and seem to have no wish to pass 
for any thing more. To be sure I am sometimes a 
little amused with Mrs. Bagshawe’s misconcep- 
tions, but she would never be guilty of them, if she 
was not taken out of her element. People to be 
thoroughly ridiculous must be either affected or 
misplaced. If I could by possibility meet my re- 
lations, the Bagshawes, at Almack’s, I dare say I 
.should feel ashamed of them, though nevertheless 
I should be angry at myself for such a feeling. It 
is a very unamiable species of false shame.” 

Lacy assented to her opinion, and regarded her 
with a look of admiration. He was thinking how 
vain was the fear that any association with vulgarity 
should attach ridicule to her. Agnes herself did 
not observe his look, and seemed, for an instant, 
absorbed in thought. 

‘‘You will think,” continued she, after a short 
pause, with a faint smile, and colouring slightly, 
“ that I have been talking in a strange blunt man- 


so 


HERBERT LACYi 


ner about my relations. I know no subject upon 
which people in general are more reserved. I pro- 
mise you, Mr. Lacy, that if you had not known 
something of them previously, I would not have 
lectured upon them to you so freely as I have done; 

but! ” she stopped. She was going to add what 

she felt would have been too flattering to Lacy, and 
would have looked too much like encouragement. 
Lacy, however, would not allow the pleasing as- 
su ranee to be lost. 

‘‘I flatter myself,’ said he, ^^you hoped that I 
should not abuse your confidence.” 

Of course, I hoped so,” she answered, with a 
slight blush. 

“ And won’t you say you thought so?” he added, 
in a tone of more tender expostulation than he had 
ever used to her before. 

“ Why, really,” replied she, with a laugh which 
had in it somewhat of eftbrt, “ I can hardly say 
less after having known you so long — though, I am 
forgetting myself, when I say I hope you will not 
abuse my confidence^ for I have said nothing you 
may not repeat — nothing you need remember to 
forget — not even the shadow of a secret. I was 
only going to apologize for troubling you with this 
long discussion upon family subjects in such a chat- 
tering fit of unreserve.” 

“Pray don’t apologize,” replied Lacy; ‘^you 
don’t know how much I am obliged to you for it.’^ 

He paused awhile, and then added: I am afraid 
you think that I am a lover of reserve — that I am 
one who can take no interest in the concerns of any 
of his neighbours. We mix little with them, it is 
true, but it does not necessarily follow, that this 
should proceed from a morose disposition, or from 
any want of kindly feeling.” 

No,” replied Agnes, such an inference might 
be very unjust — though, at the same time, I dare 
say you will allow that it would not be improba- 
ble.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


81 


Of that, I am aware, said Lacy; and I am 
therefore the more anxious to avoid its consequen- 
ces — one is not secure from censure by living to 
one’s self — sins of omission are punished quite as 
severely as any others.” 

Agnes made no reply. The conversation was 
taking a course which it became difficult to follow; 
besides, she was sensible that if there had been 
faults of omission on the part of the Lacys, there 
had been a corresponding want of neighbourly 
kindness in her own family; and as she could not 
confess to Lacy the extent of their prejudices 
against him, his candour could not safely be imi- 
tated. 

Both were silent for a short time. Lacy looked 
down, while Agnes watched his countenance, as if 
expecting what was to follow. That countenance 
underwent frequent changes, and was sometimes 
grave, then brightened for an instant, bearing, at 
the same time, an air of perplexity, as if thoughts 
were passing across his mind which he feared, and 
yet longed to express. At length, however, he 
looked up, and assuming a gay and careless manner, 
as if- to conceal the seriousness of his meditations, 
added, with a laugh, — 

I was thinking, Miss Morton, how singular it 
is that, living as we do in the same neighbourhood, 
we should have been such perfect strangers till 
within these few last days — even luck seems to 
have been against me — in the country, particularly, 
it has so happened, that on no public occasions 
have we ever met. ” 

Certainly, chance has generally been against 
us: but you must remember, at the same time, that 
my public life has not been a very long one; and 
during half of that time, you, I believe, have been 
abroad You were in Italy six months ago?” 

‘‘ I was,” said he, his countenance brightening; 

but how came you to know that? for I am not so 


S2 


HERBERT LACY. 


notoHous a personage as to expect to find strangers 
perfectly acquainted with my petty proceedings.” 

‘‘ Perhaps you are not aware,” said Agnes, 

that I am intimately connected with a friend of 
yours — that I am the ward of Mr. Sackville.” 

This was a fact wdth which Lacy was unac- 
quainted. He knew that Sackville was a friend of 
the Mortons, had some property left him by Mrs. 
Denham, and, -he believed, was her executor; but 
with these circumstances he troubled himself very 
little; and as he was not curious in investigating 
the minutia of other people^s money concerns, 
and Sackville never talked on the subject, his ig- 
norance may be easily accounted for. Lacy con- 
fessed his unconsciousness of this fact, and Agnes 
gratified his curiosity by briefly explaining it: af- 
ter which, they proceeded to speak of their mu- 
tual acquaintance, Mr. Sackville. Lacy praised 
him with much warmth. 

I can hardly name the person,” he said, 
^^whom I so much admire and like. He is so 
clever, and yet so unassuming; so entertaining as 
a companion; so friendly and engaging in his man- 
ner; so truly a man of the world, in its best sense, 
quick, intelligent, and, at the same time, so warm 
and single-hearted!” 

Agnes did not seem to participate in the gene- 
rous ardour of his praise, but coldly asked, whe- 
ther his acquaintance with Mr. Sackville had been 
of long standing. 

‘‘ No,” replied Lacy, but time is no sure cri- 
terion of intimacy — one knows some persons bet- 
ter in a month than others in a year. With, none 
did I ever become acquainted more rapidly than 
with Sackville. We seemed to like and under- 
stand each other from the first moment — and then, 
he is so frank and open! Some people wrap them- 
selves up in mystery, but Sackville is one of those 
whose character one sees at once.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


S3 


Agnes made no answer; but as she looked at La- 
cy, an incredulous smile was seen to play about , 
her mouth. 

‘‘ You don’t agree with me?” said Lacy, who 
had observed the smile. 

‘‘Not exactly,” she replied, with some hesita- 
tion. “I don’t mean to disparage your penetration: 
but I question whether Mr Sackville is so easily 
fathomed by every body.” 

“ May I ask what is ^our opinion of him?” 

“ I think that he is a very agreeable person, and 
has a great deal of talent and address. ” 

“ Which means, that you think him rather art- 
ful.” 

Agnes did not contradict the assertion. 

“But,” pursued Lacy, “that is not his general 
character. ” 

“If it were, I should say that he did not de- 
serve it. That would be a clumsy sort of artful- 
ness which every body could perceive.” 

Lacy admitted the force of the remark, and 
asked if she could give any instances of artfulness 
in Sackville. 

“ 1 should be an undutiful ward if I did,” re- 
plied she; “ but I am not obliged to say that I 7 vill 
not, for the truth is, I cannot. Mr. Sackville is 
not one of those who furnish occasion for stories 
to be told about them.” 

“ I am sorry for him,” said Lacy, “for I see 
that he has not your good opinion.” 

“ Do not suppose that,^^ she replied. “ I know 
few persons to whom he is not in most respects su- 
perior. I believe, I was only remarking upon him 
out of a spirit of opposition, because I thought 
you praised him overmuch.” 

“ 1 have good reasons for praising him, and 
warmly, too,” said Lacy, “perhaps you do not 
know how much I owe him?” 

Agnes assured him that she did. 


84 


HERBERT LACY. 


“ It is a debt,’^ continued Lacy; which I can 
never either forget or repay. You might, per- 
haps, be amused at my awkward manner of load- 
ing my friend with every virtue under heaven; 
but I cannot feel that I have exceeded; how can I 
say too much for one who has done so much for 
me?’’ 

‘^Really,” said Agnes, ‘Mvith all due respect 
for grateful feelings, I do not see why an obligation 
of that kind should blind one to a friend’s faults. 
Accident put it in Mr. Sackville’s power to save 
your life: J suppose he is a good swimmer (I believe 
he excels in most things,) and probably did this 
without much risk to himself. I dare say he would 
have done the same for any drowning person. N ow, 
don’t be shocked at me for talking so — you know I 
am not the person obliged. I may reason about it 
as coolly as I please. All I mean is, that though 
one is apt to run away with an idea of the greatness 
of this sort of chance obligation, yet it ought not, 
in reality, to make one feel half so grateful as many 
a little premeditated kindness that is suffered to 
pass almost unnoticed.” 

Lacy acknowledged the truth of the remark, 
^^But,” said he, ‘‘whether one bestows one’s gra- 
titude right or wrong, I think it is better not to 
reason ourselves out of any part of the little (too 
little) that we are apt to show.” 

“ Ah, yes,” said Agnes, looking grave; “it is 
you that are in the right. My foolish distinctions 
had better have been spared. But, in fact,” pursued 
she, with some hesitation of manner, “I spoke be- 
cause; in short I thought — I mean, that a sense of ob- 
ligation may sometimes involve — may bind — real- 
ly,” said she, colouring deeply, and trying to laugh, 
“I am a sad awkward person to explain my own 
meaning. 1 dare say you will understand it better, 
without my saying a word more.” 

Lacy was rather puzzled by her manner. He had 


HERBERT LACY. 


85 


not previously suspected that there lurked any hid- 
den meaning that should render explanation neces- 
sary. But now her broken words and evident con- 
fusion were strangely enigmatical. The truth was, 
that she wished to guard him against being led by 
a sense of gratitude to place himself too much at the 
disposal and under the power of Sackville. To this 
she was unconsciously impelled by the increasing 
interest which she felt for Lacy, and of which she 
was scarcely sensible, till she came to explain her 
meaning. Hence her embarrassment; hence, una- 
ble to assign a motive, that would not be in some 
degree flattering to Lacy, she chose to suppress her 
explanation. 

But Lacy, though unable satisfactorily to read 
her thoughts, at any rate understood sufficient to 
excite in him, both interest and pleasure. He caught 
a glimpse of the real cause of her embarrassment — • 
imperfect it was true, but affording sufficient grounds 
for hope, and great latitude for a favourable inter- 
.pretation. Fancy is notoriously active in its ope- 
rations, and in an instant it pictured to the eyes of 
Lacy, Agnes Morton with, all her attractions har- 
bouring for him alone an affection which she could 
scarcely conceal, and allowing herself incautiously 
to confess the interest which she felt in his welfare. 
How to meet so delightful a disclosure, could be no 
longer a question, and he was instantly prepared to 
address her in the language of love. But Agnes, 
whose delicacy was alarmed by the situation into 
which she was led, quickly recovering her self-pos- 
session, endeavoured to extricate herself, by a 
prompt alteration of manner, from the imputation 
of having drawn Lacy into a premature declaration 
of attachment; so that when he looked up to urge 
his suit, he saw in her countenance an expression of 
such resolute reserve, of an indifference so chilling, 
that his hopes were immediately checked, and the 

VoL I. 8 


86 


HERBERT LACY. 


tender sentiment which he was about to express 
seemed ridiculous and misplaced. 

To add to his discomfiture, Lord Midhurst at 
that moment came up, and throwing himself into a 
chair by AgneSj and addressing her in a very un- 
sentimental tone of gaiety, seemed to preclude all 
chance of a speedy resumption of so interesting a 
subject. But what was worst, Agnes appeared 
much pleased at this interruption, entered immedi- 
ately into conversation with Lord Midhurst, assu- 
med her sprightliest manner, and seemed desirous 
to drown all recollection of the past, in a copious 
flow of lively nonsense. 

Lacy was mortified: his pride was wounded by 
her receiving Lord Midhurst’s intrusion, as if it 
were a relief from the irksomeness of a tiie-d-tete 
with him ; and he was by this time sufficiently in 
love to be made very jealous by such a mark of 
preference. His jealousy, as is usually the case, 
rendered him unjust; and he quickly settled in his 
mind, that Agnes was a manoeuvring coquette, 
whose aim it was to play off Lord Midhurst and 
himself against each other, and thereby make them 
hasten their advances, ‘ and secure a proposal, at 
least from one. Lacy mentally vowed that it 
should not be from him; nor did he think that Ag- 
nes wished it should. Though himself a good 
match, he knew that, in the eyes of a fortune-hun- 
ter, he was very inferior to Lord Midhurst, whose 
proposals to Agnes, Lady Malvern evidently both 
wished and expected. With that retaliating spirit 
with which disappointed persons sometimes console 
themselves under their mortifications, he now set 
himself to reflect how fortunate it was that he was 
prevented, by a wealthier suitor, from throwing 
himself away upon one, who, upon second thoughts, 
appeared so objectionable as a wife. The coolness 
existing between the families, which a few hours 


HERBERT LACY. 


87 


ago it seemed so delightful to remove, now again 
presented an insuperable bar. The badness of the 
connexion also appeared to him in glaring colours. 
The Mortons, if not vulgar themselves, were at 
any rate related to those who were; and how would 
the heir of the Lacys endure to have his wife be- 
cousined by the Bagshawes! 

For this feeling of pride he momentarily reproach- 
ed himself, and remembered the lesson which Ag- 
nes had taught him. But then she had not acquir- 
ed like him a legitimate right to look down upon 
the canaille. Though, if they were my relations,” 
he said, ‘‘ I hope I should behave to them as well 
as she does; but while the choice is in my power, 
I may surely be allowed to feel the force of the ob- 
jection.^’ 

Then, after wondering for awhile at his own 
fickleness, in being now reduced to combat, with 
such earnestness, wishes which he had so lately 
began to form, he determined to resign all thoughts 
of Agnes, and contentedly decided that it would 
be much for the advantage of all parties, that she 
should bestow herself upon Lord Mid hurst. 


88 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER VIIL 


Trincalo. T must tell you a secret, if you’ll make much 011*1. 
Armellina, As it deserves. What is iti* 

Trincalo. I love you, clear morsel of modesty, I love you ; 
and so truly tliat I’ll make you mistress of my thoug-hts, lady 
of my revenues, and commit all my moveables into your 
handsl 

Albumazar. 

Ip Lacy flattered himself that he had obtained 
such a mastery over his feelings, as to wish success 
to Lord Midhurst, his lordship thought he had en- 
sured it. This delightful persuasion did not, how- 
ever, cause him to exhibit many of the character- 
istics of a fortunate lover. His spirits were too 
uniformly good to be capable of much improve- 
ment without exceeding proper bounds. Abstract 
tion was as foreign to his nature as flydng. He 
was not a ruminating animal; and though he talk- 
ed much, it was never to himself. When his mind 
was full of any subject, he always imburthened it 
as expeditiously as possible. He therefore had as 
absolute need of a confidant, as any hero in French 
tragedy, and his want was amply supplied; for 
nowhere could he have found one better suited to 
such an office than his useful friend Jack Lus- 
combe. 

‘‘ Jack,’^ said he, as they walked homeward 
from the paddocks, where they had been passing 
their judgment upon Lord Appleby’s racing stud, 
what do you think of Miss Morton?” “ She 
only w*ants blood,” said Luscombe, whose own 
escutcheon was not one of the brightest. 


HERBERT LACY. 


89 


a No — and she does not so much want thaty^ 
replied Lord Midhurst, ‘‘ you know her mother 
is aunt to Swansea. Her father was low enough 
to be sure — a blacksmith or locksmith, or some 
such thing — he or his father, I don’t know which. 
She is bred pretty much like Lichfield’s filly, 
Violante, by Tinker, out of the Duchess.” 

‘‘And a, fine filly that was,” said Luscombe, 
laughing at this elegant allusion. 

“ And a fine girl Miss Morton is,” replied the 
lover, “and devilish handsome, in my opinion; and 
I am not the only person who thinks so. There 
are several I could mention, who think her quite 
first-rate in point of face. There is Lutterworth — 
you know Lutterworth? I saw him one night lean- 
ing against the wall, in the pit at the Opera; with 
a glass screwed into his eye, staring away for an 
hour together. I asked him if he was star-gazing. 
‘ Something pretty much like it,’ he said; he had 
been looking at Miss Morton, and wanted to find 
out who she was. Luckily for him I happened to 
know. I had become acquainted a few days be- 
fore, it was at Almack’s, or some such place; and 
I asked Leicester, who knows the Malverns, if he 
■would introduce me to her. Leicester said, in his 
sleepy way, that he would find an opportunity. 
‘ Damn it,’ I said, ‘ why cannot you make one?’ 
So I made him introduce me at last. . I really 
thought it was time to know her, for I had heard 
several men admire her, and Bellasys had danced 
with her, and you know he is great authority, and 
gives the tone a good deal in these things — so 
that one hardly could be wrong.” 

“Why, no — you could not, certainly,” said 
Luscombe, as if he had maturely considered the 
point. 

“ No,” replied Lord Midhurst; as you say, one 
could not be wrong; and then she is not like some 
girls, that are pretty enough, but then they want 
8 * 


90 


HERBERT LACY. 


a — a certain something — a sort of an air; you un* 
derstand me; but she is so fashionable looking, and 
has so much style and manner, and all that sort of 
thing, you know.” 

“ Exactly so,” said Mr. Luscombe, settling his 
cravat, they say she has a very good fortune.” 

Yes,” replied Lord Midhurst, looking more 
thoughtful than usual, I believe she has — not 
that I consider that so much an object.” 

Luscombe looked him full in the face. ‘^Ah, 
ha, my Lord!” said he, tapping him on the shoul- 
der, at last I begin to understand you — Matri- 
mony is in the wind.” 

Lord Midhurst, with a little hesitation, allowed 
that he had some idea of the kind. 

And a good idea too,” said Luscombe. You 
know I have often told you you ought to marry. 
We may all live single if such men as you are not 
to set us the example. And then, as for the choice 
you have made, upon my honour, if I may make 
bold to give my opinion of your intended, I must 
say I think the lady does infinite credit to your 
taste.” 

Do you think she will have me?” his lord- 
ship asked, smiling all the while in conscious se- 
curity. 

‘‘Will she? won’t she? that’s all. My dear fel- 
low,” lowering his voice to a kind of confidential 
whisper, “ the game is in your own hands — you 
have nothing to do but to propose.” 

“ Haven’t I? Well, I hope I haven’t. I’ll tell 
you what, Luscombe, I shall rather astonish my 
friend Lacy. Lacy likes her, I am sure, not that 
I care for that; the only question is, whether she 
likes him.” 

Luscombe smiled, and shook his head, as if he 
thought the thing impossible. 

“You think she does not? so do I, though it is 
not such a very unlikely thing either. Lacy is a 


HERBERT LACY. 


91 


good fellow, and a fairish looking sort of fellow, 
and thinks himself rather an insinuating style of 
person, though I think we shall come over him 
yet. He is not so devilish clever at every thing; 
if it was not for that infernal bad table I could 
beat him easily enough at billiards; and, by-the- 
bye, now I come to think of it, he was quite wrong 
about the St. Leger.” 

By this time they had reached the house, and 
their tSt^-a-tete being interrupted by the accession 
of others, the conversation was forced to take a 
different turn. Lord Midhurst was quite as much 
in earnest as he had given Mr. Luscombe to un- 
derstand; and from the usual rapidity with which 
he carried his intentions into effect, it seemed pro- 
bable that Agnes, ere long, would receive an ex- 
plicit declaration of his love. Hitherto she had 
not been conscious of the truth; nor was aware 
that he had bestowed on her any thing more than 
that vague admiration which he was willing to pro- 
fess for many others. She had set him down as 
one of those unsatisfactory persons called dang- 
lers,’’ and had therefore never considered it neces- 
sary to express by her manner that air of discour- 
agement which she would have adopted, had she 
thought that any thing serious was intended. Mirth 
had hitherto been the prevailing impression with 
which his society had inspired her: but not one 
grain of tenderness had ever been associated in her 
mind with the idea of Lord Midhursf. Probably 
his lordship was not aware that this was at all ne- 
cessary to the success of his suit; or, perhaps, he 
was diffident of his qualifications for playing a sen- 
timental part; or, logically reasoned, that if a smile 
can touch the heart, a fortiori a laugh can win it. 

As his passion increased, and his spirits rose, 
he only laughed and joked the more, and exhibited 
none of that doubt and anxiety which ought to 
precede the decision of so eventful a question. In 


92 


HERBERT LACY. 


the same mirthful spirit, he seemed to resolve that 
his proposal should bear, if possible, more the air 
of a frolic, than of an important compact, on 
which hung the welfare and happiness of each, 
for life. 

On the morning after his conversation with Lus- 
combe, he lounged about for several hours watch- 
ing Agnes, in the hope of finding her alone. No 
opportunity, however, presented itself, till at length 
the ladies agreed to walk. Agnes being .Retained 
by some occupation which she wished to finish, 
the rest of the party set out before her. An op- 
portunity now occurred of detaching her from the 
rest of the company, of which Lord Midhurst, 
who lay in wait for her near the house, gladly 
availed himself. Agnes, conscious only that she 
had not been waited for, and anxious to rejoin her 
party, was moving quickly along the shrubbery- 
walk when she heard herself addressed, and, on 
turning her head, saw Lord Midhurst hastening 
after her. 

‘‘I know who you are looking for,^^ said he, 

they are gone round to the other side of the wa- 
ter; you will not easily overtake them; but,^’ ad- 
ded he, observing her look of disappointment, 
‘^one of the boats is just below — can save you 
a long walk if you will allow me to ferry you 
across.^’ 

To this proposal Agnes acceded, and was accord- 
ingly handed into the boat. The lake (one of the 
most striking features of Huntley Park) was at 
this point long and narrow, having more the air of 
a canal or river than of a lake, and lined on either 
side with dressed shrubbery. The distance across 
was very little, and Agnes anticipated a short and 
easy passage. But, to her surprise. Lord Mid- 
hurst, having pushed off the boat, and begun to 
handle his sculls, instead of rowing straight across, 


HERBERT LACT. 




turned directly down the stream. Agnes warned 
him that he was going wrong. 

‘‘ I arn allowing for the current/^ said he, look- 
ing rather arch. 

‘‘ But surely,” said Agnes, “ in that case you 
would row against the stream, and not with it.” 

Lord Midhurst burst into a hearty laugh. 

‘‘ I see there is no hoaxing you. Miss Morton. 

No: tlie real fact is, there is a better place for 
landing farther down.” 

Thank you,” replied Agnes, but I should 
have been quite satisfied with the one opposite. I 
am afraid I am giving you a great deal of trouble.” 

“ Oh, not at all — I like the row — I hope you 
are not afraid of trusting yourself to my guidance; 
I am a very expert person;” and he feathered his 
sculls with his utmost precision, in order to give 
her a good opinion of his skill. 

Agnes assured him that she did not wish to dis- 
parage his boatman-like qualities; and, encouraged 
by her smile, he made the little vessel shoot merri- 
ly through the water, entertaining her, as he plied 
his sculls, with the humours of a regatta, and the 
account of a ducking he once had. During this 
time they had been entering rapidly into wider 
and deeper water, and were leaving the land and 
approaching the centre of the lake. Agnes had 
once or twice interrupted him, to express her 
opinion of the wrong direction in which he was 
taking her; but he would not be ruled; and talked, 
and rowed on, in spite of her remonstrance.” 

‘‘Pray, Lord Midhurst,” said she, at last, “do 
stop; we are going quite wrong, I assure you.” 

“ Oh, we are right enough,” said he, backing 
his oars, “ but Pll stop if you wish it. Perhaps,” 
he added, looking very significant, “ you don’t 
know what I came here for.” 

“ No, indeed I do not,” replied Agnes, certainly 
not to oblige me. ” 


94 


HERBERT LACT. 


Why, no, said he, I hope it would not oblige 
you? for, in fact, I came here for the convenience 
of drowning myself. ” 

Did you indeed?’^ replied Agnes, quietly. 
am afraid they don’t allow the lake to be used for 
such purposes.” 

Don’t they? that is unfortunate; but however, 
Miss Morton, for your comfort, I am happy to tell 
you that it is not positively settled that I am to do 
the uncivil thing by jumping over to feed the fishes, 
and leaving you to row back alone. Whether 1 
drown myself or not, will depend upon your an- 
swer to a question of mine.” 

And what is your question?” 

The same,” said he, looking very merrily and 
cunningly in her face, that a friend of mine asked 
a lady I know.” 

‘‘ And what did he ask her?” 

“ He asked her,” said Lord Midhurst, still look- 
ing highly amused; “he asked her whether she 
would have him.” 

Agnes gave a slight start, and was in some per- 
plexity how to act. However, still doubting whe- 
ther the whole affair was not a joke, she determined 
to treat it as such, till she should be convinced of 
the contrary. 

“Really!” she exclaimed with a smile, “and 
what might the lady’s answer be?” 

“ You must excuse me there,” said his lordship, 
“ I want to hear yours.” 

Agnes again felt much embarrassed; but exert- 
ing herself to look composed, and speak with ease 
and gaiety, “ I understand you,” she replied, you 
are putting a case: “well then, if I were asked 
such a question, there is no word in the English 
language I could utter so easily as ‘ No.’ ” 

“ That is because you like to be a little tyranni- 
cal in the first instance; but you know you could 
recall that word as easily as you could say it.” 


HERBERT LACT. 


9 ^ 


What I should do in such a case, can signify 
very little said Agnes seriously and firmly. 

She hoped, by this reply, to remove the uncertainty 
which at present hung over their conference, and 
to produce so clear an understanding as should leave 
her no longer doubtful how to act. It succeeded be- 
yond her expectation, for Lord Midhurst now per- 
ceiving that, whether from accident or design, his 
meaning had not been taken seriously, immediately 
set himself to act the suitor in good earnest. He 
had nothing to trust to but the language of the 
tongue and eyes, for the situation into which he 
had brought himself, entirely precluded any im- 
posing elegance of attitude or manner. He could 
neither kneel nor stand without much difficulty and 
some risk: his hands, the instruments of action, 
that powerful aid of eloquence, were employed in 
the management of a pair of sculls, and his posi- 
tion was far from being a graceful one. Seated on 
a low bench, directly opposite to the lady of his 
affections, leaning forward on his sculls, his back 
bent, and toes extended against the stretcher, did 
he pour forth his tale of love. He told her she 
was an angel — ^that he had long suspected it, and 
been more and more convinced of it every day — 
that in his opinion she was perfect — that she fully 
came up to his idea of what a woman ought to be — 
that hers was the face he always swore by — that his 
happiness was in her power — that the possession of 
her hand, was the highest object of his ambition — 
and that* he really could not live without her. 

Agnes heard him with a heightened colour, and 
some agitation, though not with more than, in 
minds of delicacy, must always attend a commu- 
nication of this nature. Her mind, from the com- 
mencement of this declaration, had been fully made 
up, and she availed herself of the first pause in or- 
der to reply to him. 

Now, my lord,’^ said she, in as quiet and steady 


96 


HERBERT LACY. 


a tone as she could, I understand you perfectly. 
When I spoke last, 1 was doubtful of the serious- 
ness of your intentions. I am very sensible of the 
honour you do me, and am grateful for your good 
opinion; and I say this because such an acknowledg- 
ment is the only return I can ever make. I cannot 
conscientiously do otherwise than decline your pro- 
posal — nay, my lord, hear me out,’^ said she, as 
he here endeavoured to interrupt her. ‘‘It is on 
your account, that I am going to add more. You 
have perhaps a right to know, why I reject your 
offer. I have never heard any thing to the prejudice 
of your character; that I can say with perfect truth; 
nor have I seen any thing in your conduct unbefit- 
ting a gentleman. But the knowing no harm of a 
person, is a very weak reason for accepting him. I 
am sure we should not suit each other. Our habits, 
our tastes, our ways of thinking are very different. 
We should have few sentiments in common; and 
hence might arise unhappiness to both.” 

Lord Midhurst here protested that whatever the 
dijfiference might be (which, for his part he could 
not perceive) his tastes and habits should never be 
allowed to interfere with hers, and that she should 
enjoy the most perfect liberty and independence. 

“ You have promised very liberally, replied Ag- 
nes; “but I cannot help thinking, that, if inde- 
pendence is a woman’s object, she had better re- 
main single. Independence does not coincide with 
my ideas of what is befitting a wife. Married people 
should act in concert and bend to each other’s 
wishes; — but I have no right to he lecturing upon 
the duties of married life, and I believe I have said 
enough.” 

Lord Midhurst here attempted to look heart- 
broken; and said something about despair, and being 
doomed to a single life. “ No, my lord, do not say 
so: that is an old established form of words, which 
could never have been worse applied than in your 


HERBERT LACY. 


97 


case. You will find many, who will suit you bet- 
ter than I should; and I know that you are notun- 
reasonable in your expectations, by your having 
looked so low.” 

Lord Midhurst protested against being consider- 
ed to have looked low, when he aspired to her 
hand. Agnes cut short his speech as quickly as 
she could. Well, well,” said she, believe I 
ought not to have spoken so. I must have known the 
answer it would call forth. Pmy let us close the dis- 
cussion. If I reject you, it is for your own sake, as 
well as for mine. I am willing to think that you de- 
serve better than to be united to any one, who cannot 
return your affection. And now. Lord Midhurst, I 
have only two requests to make: that you will take 
me back instantly to the place we came from, and 
that you will never mention the subject again.” 

Lord Midhurst was prepared still to expostulate; 
but there was a dignity and decision in her tone 
and manner, which made him instantly feel the 
uselessness and impropriety of saying more. He 
therefore bowed in token of obedience, and turn- 
ing his boat, prepared to convey her back again. 
No part of the preceding conference had been more 
embarrassing to the feelings of each, than was the 
silence that ensued. Not a word was uttered by 
either, and no sound was heard but the measured 
splash of the sculls, which only served to mark the 
time, and make it appear longer. Agnes tried to 
look at the scenery; Lord Midhurst to appear at- 
tentive only to his rowing. Each wished the other 
to speak, but neither liked to begin, or knew ex- 
actly what to say. Their recent subject was ab- 
solutely dismissed; and no trivial topic of conver- 
sation could accord well with their ideas after one 
of such interest. Besides, there were feelings of 
displeasure, which began to arise in the breasts of 
each. Agnes, when she ceased to be absorbed by 
the actual fact of Lord MidhursPs proposal, began 

VoL. I. 9 


98 


HERBERT LACY. 


to be rather angry at the manner of it; and thought 
that this frolicsome style of wooing, evinced very 
little consideration for her feelings, and showed 
that, provided he was secure from the possibility of 
being interrupted in what he said, he little cared 
how publicly it was made. 

Lord M idhurst was also displeased, partly with 
Agnes, for having rejected him, partly with him- 
self. He now found that the scheme by which 
he thought to have so cleverly secured an uninter- 
rupted tete-a-tete had placed him in rather an awk- 
ward situation. It was a measure, planned in the 
ardour of confidence, and was calculated only for 
successful warfare, as it afforded no means for an 
unobserved and honourable retreat. To have rowed 
the lady triumphantly to shore, blushing acknowl- 
edgements of his power over her captive heart, or 
even coyly entreating to be allowed time to reflect 
upon his offer, would have been pleasant enough; 
while, as he homeward plied his sculls, he might 
have still enforced his suit, or discussed the arrange- 
ments for their happy union. But he had never 
calculated upon the absolute rejection which he had 
received; and now, to have taken so much trouble 
for worse than nothing, to have schemed only for 
the publication of his own defeat, and to be autho- 
ritatively told by the somewhat indignant lady, to 
convey her instantly back again, all this was very 
mortifying. He had received the just punishment 
of his overweening confidence: and we doubt not 
that a galley slave may often have tugged at his oar 
with less uncomfortable feelings, than were those 
of Lord Midhurst during their short passage to the 
opposite bank. 

But the worst was yet to come. As they ap- 
proached the side, three gentlemen, who had been, 
till that instant, concealed from their view by the 
shrubs, walked up to assist at the disembarkation. 
They were Lord Malvern, Huntley, and Lacy, the 


HERBERT LACY. 


99 


person of all others, whose observation both Lord 
Mid hurst and Agnes would have most vvisbed at 
that moment to avoid. Lacy had felt some sur- 
prise and a considerable degree of jealous uneasiness, 
at seeing her on the water accompanied only by 
Lord Midhurst. It was a pointed mark of intima- 
cy, which made him sensible, for the moment, how 
great a pang her marriage would cost him. He, 
however, struggled against any betrayal of his feel- 
ings, and stepping cheerfully on before the others, 
was foremost with the offer of his hand to help 
Miss Morton out of the boat. Then he could not 
but notice her constrained air, her flushed cheek, 
and the nervous treniour of her hand. Thence it 
was plain, that the interview had been of an agitat- 
ing nature. He could gain no immediate intelli- 
gence from his observation of Lord Midhurst, who 
was busying himself, with extraordinary earnest- 
ness, in securing the boat at its moorings, and ex- 
amining the bottom inside and out, as if he thought 
he had discovered a leak. 

•‘A neat little boat this,” were his first words, 
spoken in a tone that was not perfectly easy, and 
without looking any one in the face. ‘‘ I have just 
been rowing Miss Morton to that part of the lake 
where the house looks so well.” 

Lacy’s eye turned towards Agnes at this moment, 
to see how far she acquiesced in this explanation of 
their proceedings. He gathered only its refutation 
from her indignant glance, and the words, ‘‘You 
were very obliging,” scornfully uttered in a low 
tone; for Agnes, though anxious to escape observa- 
tion, did not choose to become an accessary to the 
equivocation of Lord Midhurst’s remark. 

Lord Midhurst, who had now no longer any 
pretence for busying himself about the boat, and 
was obliged to stand erect, and look about him, 
could not help seeming vexed and embarrassed. 
Hence Lacy, on whom no indications were lost, 


100 


HERBERT LACY. 


plainly inferred that if a proposal had been madcy 
it had not been favourably received by Agnes. 
The same thoughts appeared to be passing in the 
minds of Lord Malvern and Huntley, for as the 
eyes of each met those of Lacy, there was in them 
a look of consciousness and intelligence, which 
confirmed each in his opinion. These looks were 
not unobserved by Agnes and Lord Midhurst, and 
added considerably to their uneasiness. The latter, 
evidently ill at ease, sauntered behind, and present-* 
ly turned away in a different direction to that which 
the party were pursuing, leaving Agnes to be es- 
corted home by the other gentlemen. She exerted 
herself to talk; but the exertion was evident, and 
Lacy perceived that she conversed because she 
felt herself called upon to say something, and not 
because it gave her an}^ pleasure. The gentlemen, 
however curious, politely abstained from all at- 
tempt to extort an explanation of what had passed; 
and a little sober converse about the scenery of 
Huntley and other places, was all that ensued du- 
ring their walk to the house. 


HERBERT LACY. 


101 


CHAPTER IX. 


It was the time when Ouse display’d, 

His lilies newly blown; 

Their beauties I intent surveyed, 

And one I wish’d my own. 

COWPER. 

It soon became known to all at Huntley, that 
Lord Midhurst had made an unsuccessful proposal 
to Miss Morton. Agnes very naturally told her 
sister what had passed, and Lady Malvern, though 
angry with her for having refused so good an of- 
fer, yet as the mischief was done, wisely determi- 
ned to make the best of it. She was too proud of 
her sister’s having had so rich a prize within her 
grasp, not to whisper it as a profound secret, to 
those discreet and trusty matrons, Lady Appleby 
and Mrs. Poole; and they, as was expected, soon 
divulged it, under a similar pledge, to others. 
Lord Midhurst also chose to be the herald of his 
own disgrace. Secresy did not enter into the 
composition of his character, and he could not re- 
frain from imparting his griefs to his friend Lus- 
combe. Luscombe was very properly shocked 
and surprised at the unaccountable folly of the 
young lady: but at last suggested, with a view to 
sooth his companion’s wounded vanity, that she 
might have been engaged to somebody else. Lord 
Midhurst approved of the idea, and regretted that 
he had not thought, at the time, of asking her that 
question. 

Lacy owed his information principally to Lord 
Malvern, with whom he had some conversation on 
9 ^ 


102 


HERBERT LACY. 


the subject, on the following morning. Lord Mal- 
vern was a sensible man, now about eight and 
twenty. He was grave, quiet, shy, and not a per- 
son who brought himself forward, or could excite 
much attention in any large party. He had the 
character of being proud, a character often given 
to reserved persons, and often, as in the present 
case, unjustly. Far from being proud, he was 
only too diffident; and far from asserting his rank, 
he shrunk from attentions which he always feared 
were paid rather to his situation than to himself. 
He liked Lacy, who had the happy art of adapt- 
ing himself equally to the society of the grave and 
gay; and Lacy, who was fond of discoveries, liked 
him because he found in him more talent than he 
had expected. Lord Malvern, who thought that 
Lacy would be a very good match for his sister- 
in-law, and who was not without some idea of pro- 
moting it, told him, in confidence, a good deal of 
what he had gathered from his lady. He also ad- 
ded several encomiums of Agnes, and mentioned 
traits of character, which tended to raise her still 
higher in Lacy’s estimation, and coincided very 
agreeably with those favourable impressions which 
he was now so ready to entertain. Lord Malvern 
did not seem to regret her rejection of Lord Mid- 
hurst, but rather rejoiced at her superiority to all 
ambitious or mercenary views, and doubted not 
tliat her great merits would eventually ensure her 
asjgood a match. 

Lord Midhurst took his leave on the day after 
his rejection. It was not to be expected, with his 
good spirits and easy temper, that he should ex- 
hibit much of the appearance of a disconsolate 
lover. Nobody, therefore, was much surprised, 
at seeing how easily he recovered his gaiety. Part- 
ly from natural inclination, and partly from the 
wish of showing Agnes how little he minded her 
treatment of him, he talked and laughed quite as 


HERBERT LACY. 


103 


much as he had done the day before. Agnes, how- 
ever, was not piqued; she >vas only reheved from 
the fear of having given pain, and was confirmed 
in her sense of the propriety of what she had done, 
upon receiving such a proof of the weakness of his 
attachment. He was, however, as little in her 
thoughts, as could have been expected, and it seem- 
ed to her as if she should soon forget both him and 
his offer. 

It was not so with Lacy; the past had made a 
great impression upon him. His jealousy of Lord 
Midhurst had been effectually disarmed: he was 
compelled to acquit Agnes of coquettish manoeu- 
vring; and he had received a tacit assurance, that 
if she were ever brought to accept him, it would be 
from pure regard, uninfluenced by any mercenary 
consideration of his being, in point of wealth and 
station, an eligible match. All his objections, all 
his prejudices had gradually melted away, and on 
reviewing her beauty, her elegance, her happy 
union of lively talents with sweetness of temper, 
and her unaffected openness and candour, he could 
not conceal from himself the fact, that he was al- 
ready very much in love with her, and that he 
longed for an opportunity of declaring it. 

But here, the recollection of Lord Midhurst’s 
late rebuff, taught him a lesson of salutary pru- 
dence. Agnes had appeared to distinguish his 
lordship, quite as much, if not more than himself: 
why, therefore, should he, who had received even 
less of that favourable notice, which might be con- 
strued into encouragenient, presume to expect suc- 
cess, where a more dignified claimant had been re- 
jected? She might be already attached, nay, en- 
gaged to another; and Lord Malvern’s confident 
expectation of her being eventually well-married, 
though not very clearly expressed, seemed to point 
to such a circumstance. This consideration was 
sufficient to render Lacy cautious, and to deter- 


104 


Herbert lacy. 


mine him not to avow his attachment to Miss Mor- 
ton until he had reason to think, that such an 
avowal would be favourably received. He watch- 
ed eagerly, but in vain, for any indication of such 
an import, throughout the two days succeeding 
her interview with Lord Midhurst. He even 
thought that her manner towards him, was more 
reserved than before. This was the fact, and it 
arose from an increasing consciousness, that she 
had been partly influenced in her rejection of Lord 
Midhurst by a growing preference for Lacy. 

This happy truth Lacy would not, in all proba- 
bility, have soon discovered, but for an accidental 
circumstance that shortly occurred. The very 
lake which had been the scene of his rival’s dis- 
comfiture, also witnessed the elevation of Lacy’s 
hopes. On a beautiful day, early in August, Ag- 
nes, Lady Malvern, and Miss Tyrwhitt, accompa- 
nied by Lacy and Hartley, attracted by the clear 
and cool appearance of the water, were walking 
leisurely along its edge. A sheet of water is al- 
ways an agreeable object on a hot summer’s day, 
even to those who have no taste for the picturesque: 
and in addition to the pleasant associations of cool- 
ness and repose which it produced, the present 
scene was one of no slight beauty. The broad 
masses of opposite wood were clearly reflected in the 
lake’s still surface, now unruffled by any breeze, 
but dimpled here and there by fish that rose at 
flies, and by the swallows which occasionally check- 
ed their flight to dip themselves in the water. A 
few timid wild fowl swimming at a distance, left, 
in their wake, a long bright line of light across the 
dark reflection of the trees; while, closer to the eye, 
the proud, majestic swan floated indolently down 
the stream which flowed so gently that he scarcely 
seemed to move. 

The bank, at the place where the party were 
standing, was rather steep and broken; and they 


HERBERT LACT. 


105 


surveyed this tranquil scene from an eminence of 
many yards above the water’s edge. The atten- 
tion of Agnes was particularly attracted by a fine 
group of white water-lilies, that were rising from 
between their broad green leaves near the side. 

How beautiful they are!” she exclaimed, I 
wish I had a good little dog, like the poet Cowper’s, 
that went in and brought him the flower he want- 
ed.” 

If you will consider me a worthy substitute for 
the good little dog,” said Lacy, I will try what 
I can do.” 

‘‘ Thank you, but I should be ashamed of giving 
you that trouble. ” 

Of course, it was a pleasure rather than a trou- 
ble; and Lacy prepared to gratify her wish. 

‘‘ No, pray don’t,” continued she:/‘I don’t de- 
serve to be humoured in such a foolish whim. I 
am like a child that cannot see a pretty thing with- 
out wanting to touch, it. It is no easy mutter — 
pray don’t attempt it.” 

While she was saying this, Lacy, regardless of 
her remonstrance, had let himself down the bank, 
and was at the water’s edge, almost within reach of 
the flower. 

Now, Miss Morton,” said Hartley, I will 
bet you a pair of gloves that your little dog Lacy 
does not get you the flower without taldng the wa- 
ter after it.” 

Agnes was too anxiously intent upon watching 
Lacy to attend to what Hartley said. ‘‘ Won’t 
you bet?” he added. Well, you are wise, I am 
confident he will take the water.” 

At this instant, a scream from the ladies, and a 
loud splash from below, showed that he was right 
in his opinion. The lilies, when Lacy attempted 
to reach them, were found to grow at such a dis- 
tance from the edge, that he could not extend him- 
self far enough to touch them without support from 


106 


HERBERT LACT. 


the side, and for this purpose he took hold with one 
hand of a root that projected out of the bank. 
While thus hanging over the water, he felt the soil 
on which he trod give way beneath him, and in- 
stant exertion became necessary, in order to regain 
a firmer footing. In so doing, he gave to the root, 
now his sole trust, a more violent pull than it would 
bear. It broke in his hand, and he fell headlong 
into the water. It was rather deep at that place, 
and Lacy at the first plunge was totally immersed. 
With that instinctive exertion which a sense of 
danger prompts, no sooner had he risen again than 
he instantly endeavoured to scramble out. But the 
bank was slippery and steep, and every tussock of 
grass that he grasped gave way; and at the same 
time a new enemy appeared, that rendered his situa- 
tion rather critical. A swan that had a nest not 
far off, and was a near spectator of Lacy’s proceed- 
ings, on witnessing this intrusion into her right- 
ful element, instantly rushed at him, and dealt 
several sharp blows with her beak and wings. These 
Lacy fortunately warded from his head, and re- 
ceived upon his arms and shoulders, or the conse- 
quences might have been serious. As it was, the 
Struggle seemed of a doubtful character. Lacy, 
confused by the shock of his sudden immersion, 
and with his eyes full of water, hardly knew, in 
the first instance, how he was attacked. He was 
once more forced under the water, and his situa- 
tion seemed one of much difficulty. 

Hartley, who had laughed at seeing him tumble, 
in, now looked aghast. Lady Malvern, and Miss 
Tyrwhitt screamed; but it was not only at Lacy’s 
danger, but at seeing Agnes spring alertly down 
the bank, and place herself within reach of the ir- 
ritated swan. ‘‘ Take this,” she said, to Lacy, at 
the same moment, and threw her closed parasol to- 
wards him. Fortunately the swan gave him no 


HERBERT LACY. 


107 


opportunity to try the effectiveness of this novel 
weapon, for startled by the sudden approach of 
Agnes, it turned round and swam away. 

All this took place in a very few seconds. 
Scarcely was Agnes at the water’s edge than Hart- 
ley was at her side, and no sooner had the swan re- 
treated, than he was helping her up the bank, and 
then turned round to give a hand to Lacy, who 
was now exerting himself successfully to get once 
more upon dry land. From this time, before one 
could have counted twenty, they were all together 
upon the top of the bank, the ladies wondering, 
and pitying, and lamenting; Lacy and Hartley 
wondering and laughing, the former almost forget- 
ting how the accident could have originated, and 
the latter much amused with his appearance. 

‘‘Why, you drip like a water spaniel!” said 
Hartley. “ Don’t shake yourself near the ladies. 
Indeed, Miss Morton, it is no joke,” for Agnes 
gave him a look that seemed to reproach him for 
his levity. “ All creatures shake themselves when 
they come out of the water. Do, my dear fellow, 
let me wring you. Why! you have actually lost 
your water-proof hat?” 

“ And not performed my errand,” said Lacy, 
looking round at the place where the lilies were. 

“Ay,” said Hartley; “ but it is of no use to go 
back for the flowers, for you and the swan have 
destroyed them between you.” 

“ Mr. Lacy,” said Agnes, “ I will not keep 
you here shivering in wet clothes to thank you at 
length for having gone through so much for a 
whim of mine. You will easily believe that I am 
greatly obliged.” 

“ You obliged! then what must I be?” said La- 
cy, and lowering his voice, and coming nearer to 
her, he added, “ I saw that you were the first to 
assist me. 

Gratifying as that recollection was to Lacy, it 


108 


HERBERT LACT. 


could not convey more delightful sensations than 
did the blush which these few words had raised in 
Agnes’ cheek. ‘‘ I am sure I could not do less/’ 
was her reply, ‘‘ for it was I that caused it all.” 

But she could not look at him as she said it; 
and there was an embarrassed consciousness of hav- 
ing betrayed the favourable state of her senti- 
ments, that gave to her confusion of manner an in- 
expressible charm in the eyes of Lacy. Her words 
endeavoured to imply, that she would have done 
the same for any one in a like situation; but her 
looks showed, at any rate to the satisfaction of La- 
cy, that she had been roused to such an act of 
prompt exertion only by the strong interest which 
she felt for him. He still held in his hand the 
parasol which she had given him, and was now 
about to restore it. In giving it their hands met, 
and the opportunity of confirming all that his eyes 
had spoken, by a short, gentle pressure of hers, 
was too tempting to be resisted. It was the first 
time he had ventured so far. She evidently un- 
derstood that the pressure was not accidental. She 
did not withdraw her hand, but she tried to turn 
away her head, and her lessening colour rose 
again. 

Lacy then turned to the others, and making a few 
sportive remarks upon his own appearance, hasten- 
ed from them to the house. His homeward walk 
afforded a proof of the ascendancy of mental over 
bodily feelings? He was bareheaded, and drench- 
ed with wet, and had received several bruises from 
the buffets of the swan, and, in short, was in a 
state of thorough discomfort. Yet never did his 
spirits feel more buoyant; for the glow of hope and 
satisfaction with which he was inspired, rendered 
him quite insensible to the disagreeableness of his 
situation. 


HERBERT LACY. 


109 


CHAPTER X. 

Ill love I desire that my desire may be weighed in the ba- 
lance of honour, and let virtue hold the beam. 

Sir Philip Sidhtet. 

Recent events afforded Lacy ample matter for 
meditation. He recapitulated to himself all that 
had been said and done, reviewed the virtues and 
graces of Agnes Morton, her beauty, her talents., 
her amiableness, her sense, and, above all, the de- 
lightful fact of which he now felt strongly assur- 
ed, that she had begun to return his affection. This 
was the happy conviction, but for the absence of 
which, he would two days back have willingly of- 
fered her his hand; and now this assurance was 
gained. In such a case he could come but to one 
conclusion, and the result was a determination to 
offer himself to Agnes Morton. 

Next arose the question, how soon his wishes 
were to be made known to her; and here was fresh 
subject for mental debate. Passion prompted an 
instant avowal: but Lacy, though young and ar- 
dent, was no blind slave to the impulse of passion. 
The fear of a repulse being removed, the prudence 
which had warned him of the possibility of such 
an evil, suggested fresh motives for caution and 
delay. It made him look from himself and Agnes 
to their respective families, and remember the un- 
pleasant feelings with which tliey had long regard- 
ed each other. He considered that she whom he 
now wished to marry, was the daughter of parents 
whom he not only did not know, but of whpse ill- 

VoL I. 10 


110 


HERBERT LACY. 


will towards him he could not help feeling pre-as- 
sured. Even if their disinclination to the match 
should be surmounted, there was still that of his 
own parents to contend with. Their prejudices 
against the Mortons he was now inclined to consider 
unreasonable; but, unreasonable or not, they were 
the prejudices of his parents, and as such he was 
bound to respect them. At any rate, it could nev- 
er be consistent with the duty he owed them, to 
engage, without their knowledge, in a measure 
which was sure, in the first instance, to meet with 
their disapprobation. It was essential, therefore, 
that a communication should be made to them, and 
that he should endeavour to forestall their objec- 
tions, and secure their answer to his arguments, 
before he took a step of such lasting importance. 
He would write to them instantly. He would 
await their reply; and then declare himself to Ag- 
nes. He should stay several days longer at Hunt- 
ley — the Applebys showed a wish to detain him, 
Agnes would also remain with them another week. 
He should soon get an answer, and he trusted a 
favourable one, and all would be settled without 
his being obliged to depart in uncertainty. 

With a mind full of these things, Lacy sat down 
to write. He gave a short but eloquent relation 
of the merits of Agnes, and his own love; and ad- 
duced many pointed arguments in favour of a con- 
ciliatory line of conduct towards the Mortons. He 
sat, thus interestingly employed, in his own room, 
unconscious of the lapse of time, till warned, by 
his servant, that the party were going in to dinner; 
and he hurried to the dining-room, which he en- 
tered in the wake of the last couple, just too late 
to secure a seat next to Agnes. He, however, sat 
opposite to her, and, unless the treacherous lights 
deceived him, he fancied that when their eyes met 
he saw her blush. He also flattered himself, that 


HERBERT LACY. 


Ill 


she equally regretted his not being near her; thought 
she was sometimes abstracted; and saw with plea- 
sure that she did not talk much to either of her 
neighbours. 

Nevertheless, he was very impatient for the ter- 
mination of dinner, that he might rejoin her in 
the drawing-room, and there enjoy the happiness 
of being near enough to talk to her without being 
heard by all the room. He was also anxious to 
put his letter in a train for reaching home with 
speed. 

The post at Huntley came in in the evening; 
and when Lord Appleby re-entered the drawing- 
room, a large heap of letters was placed before 
him. His lordship had opened all the envelopes 
with the methodical solemnity of a man who has 
little to do, and thinks that little of great import- 
ance; and Lacy was walking up to him to soHcit a 
frank, when a letter, taken out of one of the co- 
vers addressed to Lord Appleby, was put by him 
into Lacy’s hand. One glance at the direction 
satisfied Lacy that the letter was from his mother, 
and he withdrew to a distant table to read it. He 
^yas not surprised, or alarmed, or even greatly in- 
terested. It was no more than he expected; for 
he knew that his mother was a great correspon- 
dent, and loved writing as much as his father hated 
it. When we say a great correspondent, let it 
be understood with respect to quantity — of the 
quality we shall see more hereafter. We shall, 
however, be happy to notice any peculiar excel- 
lence that may characterize her style. And here, 
be it observed, that she was distinguished for her 
emphatic and judicious system of dashing; on 
which account, for the better instruction of those 
whom it may concern, we shall insert her letter 
verbatim, premising that the words printed in ita- 
lics were underlined in the original. 


112 


HERBERT LACY. 


My Dear Herbert. 

Your father feeling himself unequal to the ex- 
ertion of writing.) I take up my pen to do that of- 
fice for him. He has had a pain in the right arm, 
which makes him incapable of writing without 
uneasiness to himself; and, indeed, he has told me 
that, at all events, I should be the properest per- 
son to break the message to you, though I do not 
feel certain of that, nor do I think that it would 
have hurt your father to have written himself; but 
in fact he does not like the trouble of it; and, as 
you well know his usual unwillingness to do any 
thing of the kind, I am sure you will not be sur- 
prised at this letter coming from me instead of 
him. 

‘‘We wish very much to have you at home 
again, and for more reasons than one. I cannot 
give you my authority, but I am assured by a 
person who ought to know, that there is a very 
bad scarlet fever in the neighbourhood of Huntley 
Park: and as you know my horror of infection, 
I am sure you will believe the uneasiness which I 
feel till I know that you are out of harm’s ivay, 
especially as I have reason to think that you dp 
not take the best care in the world of yourself, as 
indeed young men don’t always do, and you 
among the rest. But this is not my only reason 
for wishing you at home, for I am desired by your 
father to say from him, that he wishes to see 
you immediately upon very impcndant business, 
which will be better explained by word of mouth 
when you come home, than I can do by letter now. 
I can assure you it is business which very nearly 
concerns us all, but you in particular, and it is the 
principal, and indeed I may say my reason 
for writing: though at the same time, 1 would not 
have you careless about the fever, which certainly 
is in that neighbourhood. 

“ I hear that Mrs. Poole is now at Huntley; as- 


HERBERT LACY. 


113 


certain if you can how long she will stay there, and 
tohere she will go next. I have my reasons for 
wishing to know this. I rather think, from cir- 
cumstances, which it is unnecessary to mention 
noio, that she will go from thence to the King- 
stons. 

There is a report that the Ellises have laid 
down two of their carriage horses, and, for the fu- 
ture, will drive only a pair. I suppose they find 
it necessary to retrench. I had a great idea some 
time ago that they were living a little too fast; 
perhaps, however, it may not be altogether true, 
and they are only changing their set, for Jackson 
tells me that their leaders were not very good ones; 
but, at the same time, he has heard nothing of their 
buying fresh ones in their stead. Perhaps you 
may hear something about it where you are. 

‘‘ The Dash woods’ carriage passed by yesterday. 
I strongly suspect that they are going on a visit to 
the Rodboroughs, at Westcourt, for they were tra- 
velling in that direction^ and they generally visit 
them once a year, about this time. 

‘‘You will be glad to hear that your sister’s lit- 
tle boy has cut another tooth ; he is doing very well, 
though rather feverish^ as may be expected. She 
is also going to part with her laundry-maid, which 
I am rather sorry for, for I always thought her a 
tidy person. She wrote to Charles two or three 
days ago, and, of course, mentioned all this in her 
letter; but Charles is so giddy y that I dare say he 
never told you any thing about it — Pray remem- 
ber me kindly to him, and with our united best 
love, believe me, my dear son, yours, very affec- 
tionately, Catherine Lacy.” 

“ P. S. The business I alluded to will not admit 
of any delay; therefore, pray come home imme- 
diately. The Applebys cannot be offended at your 
leaving them abruptly, for you have already staid 


114 


HERBERT LACY. 


with them longer than you meant at first. Pray 
say every thing that is civil to them from us. 
Burn this as soon as you have read it.^^ 

The first thing that Lacy did, after a short ru- 
mination, was to comply with the injunction of the 
concluding sentence, by committing his letter to 
the flames. He next sought out Lord and Lady 
Appleby, and communicated the necessity he was 
under of going home on the morrow. They were 
told that business called him thither — heard that he 
had received a letter from thence — hoped that all 
were well at Lacy Park, and were just as sorry as 
the occasion required. 

The communication to Lady Appleby was made 
in the hearing of Agnes; and Lacy, who watched 
her manner of receiving it, saw her look up quickly 
as he spoke, and then, he thought, with an air of 
confusion, glance timidly round, and taking up a 
book, bend low over the leaves, as if to conceal the 
expression of her countenance. He judged from 
her manner, that the intelligence was more import- 
ant to her feelings than she chose to show; and he 
was consoled by so thinking. He soon came round 
to'lier side, and announced his intended departure. 

“Yes, so I heard you tell Lady Appleby,’^ was 
the whole of her reply, and she went on examin- 
ing the prints in one of the numbers of the Lodgers 
Portraits. There was nothing soothing in the words 
themselves; but Lacy rather liked the hurried man- 
ner in which they were spoken. This ineffectual 
effort at composure was just what a parting lover 
would desire. 

Lacy was much mortified at being obliged to quit 
Huntley so soon: but he saw the necessity, and his 
decision was quickly formed. He had too high a 
sense of the duty of filial obedience, to entertain, for 
an instant, the idea of disregarding the request con- 
tained in his mother’s letter; and he could soon add 


HERBERT LACY. 


115 


many good reasons of his own for a speedy return, 
lie had been doubting,, whether the effect of his 
written statement would be as satisfactory as he at 
first supposed; and whether it was not highly expedi- 
ent that his cause should be pleaded iti person. Even 
then, he began to think that it might be rash to en- 
danger his success by a sudden appeal, before his 
parents w’ere even brought to regard the Mortons 
with common charity. The more he considered 
the case, the more he felt that the result which he 
desired must be the work of time, and that he must 
lead them insensibly to entertain a good opinion of 
their neighbours, before he startled them with the 
proposal of introducing a daughter of that proscri- 
bed house into the family of the Lacys. He also 
apprehended that some objections might exist on 
the part of the Mortons, which only time and op- 
portunity would enable him to remove. 

In short, he perceived that many difficulties lay 
in his path, and was thankful for having been time- 
ly saved from the consequences of a precipitate en- 
gagement; he must therefore return, and that soon; 
a longer stay at Huntley would rather retard than 
further his prospects, the success of which now 
seemed to depend chiefly upon his conciliatory 
operations in another quarter. He said little in the 
course of the evening to Agnes upon the subject 
of his departure; till at length, when it grew late, 
finding her rather apart from the rest, he came 
up, sat down by her, and said he was going to take 
leave. 

I set off early in the morning,’’ he said; 
shall not see you after to-night — I do not know 
when we may meet next.” 

‘‘You will not be staying at Lacy, then?” 

“Yes I shall — and you I hope at Dodswell?” 

Agnes smiled assent. 

“We shall be near,” he said; “it is but six 
miles. You ride, don’t you, when you are at home? 


116 


HERBERT LACY. 


Pray don’t discontinue it — there are beautiful rides 
near us. Perhaps I may sometimes catch a glimpse 
of you. Would you acknowledge me, if we were 
actually to meet in our unsociable quarter of the 
world?” 

^^You can answer that question yourself,” re- 
plied Agnes, with a blush. 

‘‘Yes,” said he, “ I am sure you would — must 
you be going? Good night — I am glad I can say 
that — it has a pleasanter sound than ‘good bye!’ 
But you must not defraud me of the privileges of 
leave-taking.” Then taking her passive hand, he 
pressed it, and exchanging one more “ good night.” 
they parted. 

The next morning before Agnes had appeared 
at the breakfast-table, Lacy was on his road home- 
ward. 


HERBERT LACY. 


117 


CHAPTER XI. 


Heaven doth with us, as we with torches do, 

Not light them for themselves: for if otir virtues 
Dic^ not go forth of us, *twere all alike 
As if we had them not. 

Measure for Measure- 

If Lacy’s homeward journey was under a dull, 
unvarying sky, and through an uninteresting coun- 
try, his meditations were far from being of the 
same monotonous character. The alternations of 
mental cloud and sunshine rapidly succeeded each 
other, as his mind recurred to the flattering retro- 
spect, or dwelt on the uncertainties of future events. 
In the recollections interesting but fruitless, and in 
the more useful arrangement of his plans, did he 
beguile the time, till after several hours spent in 
travelling, he found himself entering the lodge gate 
at^acy Park. 

It was a fine place, ill kept, and conveying, as 
neglected beauty always does, a feeling of mourn- 
fulness. Nothing betokened the existence of hos- 
pitality, or care, or much regard for appearances. 
The tasteful lodge was allowed to be disfigured by 
a display of household utensils. The road was 
weedy and ill verged; the grass long, and partially 
grazed; and nettles and thistles, the tokens rather 
of bad husbandry, than of an attention to pictu- 
resque wildness, were numerously dotted over the 
ground, on either side of the approach. 

These things, though familiar to Lacy’s eye, 
were keenly observed in the present instance — the 


118 


HERBERT LACY. 


more, perhaps, because he now contrasted them 
with the well ordered appearance of Huntley. He 
lamented them more than usually, not from wound- 
ed taste or mortified vanity, but from regarding 
them as the result of his father’s unfortunate habits 
of indolence. This, the more he considered, the 
more did he regret, and longed to see him regain 
his due consideration in the neighbourhood. He 
felt, however, that much delicacy would be re- 
quired in the direction of his endeavours to rouse 
him from this state of supineness. He sometimes 
even doubted whether he ought to attempt it at all, 
and whether he shobld not be wanting in the duty 
he owed him, if, from a selfish eagerness for his 
own advancement, le should infringe upon the 
comforts of his father s life, by urging a departure 
from his usual habits. This he was unwilling to 
do, and he determined to supply, if possible, his 
deficiency of exertion, by increased activity in him- 
self. 

With such thoughts he approached the house, a 
stately specimen of Elizabethan gothic, uniting the 
grandeur of outward antiquity, with the internal 
comforts of modern arrangement. On entering it, 
he inquired immediately for his parents. Lady 
Lacy was out in her carriage. Sir William was 
said to be in his study, to which Lacy instantly re- 
paired, and, opening the door, found himself in his 
father’s presence. 

The room in which Sir William was sitting was 
very characteristic of the habits of its owner, and 
presented, like him, a singular mixture of regulari- 
ty and negligence. On a table, on which nume- 
rous files of newspapers were carefully deposited, a 
miscellaneous heap, consisting of maps, plans, 
prints, letters, and other writings lay, confusedly 
, huddled together. The neat book-shelves, that 
lined the walls, filled with handsome, well arranged 
books, were contrasted with the careless confusion 


HERBERT LACr. 


119 


with which easy chairs, globes, pamphlets, reviews, 
and new publications were, in defiance of all order, 
variously dispersed about the room. Sir William, 
dressed in a long, loose frock coat, was reclining, 
rather than sitting, in a deep, low, well cushioned 
arm-chair, with an ivory leaf-cutter in one hand, 
and a newspaper in the other; two other papers and 
an Edinburgh Review, on the floor near him; an 
Atlas stuck in the side of his chair, a half cut quarto 
lying open on his knee, and a number of the Quar- 
terly Review doubled down upon it, with the back 
uppermost. 

He looked round, with apparent surprise, as his 
son entered the room, and surveyed him from head 
to foot, with a humorous air of scrutiny. ‘‘Him- 
self! by all that^s wonderful!’’ was his first saluta- 
tion, holding out, at the same time, the fore-finger 
of the hand that held the newspaper, “ Herbert, 
my hero ! welcome to my arms — ‘ on a shield gules 
three mullets argent!’ Don’t laugh, you dog, but 
tell me seriously how you are, and what brings you 
home so soon.” 

“I am quite well. Sir, I thank you — how 
are — ?” 

“ Oh! — all well, from myself to the under groom 
inclusive. Well, but — oh, by the bye, you are just 
come in time to, — there — reach me that book in the 
brown cover — tliank you — and put this Atlas up — 
and — well, but what brings you home so soon?” 

“ Surely, Sir, you know,” said Herbert, with 
surprise. 

“ Do I, indeed? I was not aware of it.” 

“ You sent for me, did not you?” 

“ Nay, don’t ask me, you seem to know most 
about it. Was it by letter or express?” 

“ My mother,” said Herbert, “ wrote to say 
that ” 

“Oh, it was your mother, then, it was not I — 
that alters the question.” 


120 


HERBERT LACY. 


^‘But she wrote to say, that you wanted to sec 
me on particular business.’^ 

Did she? well, I believe she was right; for I 
have some business on hand; and I remember say- 
ing I wished you were at home: and I think she 
told me she would write to you, but I did not par- 
ticularly attend to her. And so you have come in 
consequence, eh? Well, all that I can say is, that 
I am very glad to see you, Sir. And how did you 
pass your time at Huntley? How did you make it 
out with my Lord Appleby? He is an excellent 
man, Herbert, and a gentlemanly man, but cer- 
tainly the most insipid of God^s creatures. And 
how he bored me once with telling me, in his 
roundabout way, how he had picked up an original 
picture of the poet Rowley. I remember I pro- 
mised, whenever he would do me the favour of a 
visit, to show him, in return, a bust of Ossian; I 
hope I did not offend the man. And then there is 
his speechifying wife: I suppose she loaded you 
with pretty messages?’^ 

“ Oh, yes, she said ’’ 

“Well, don’t repeat them to me, at least; keep 
them all for your mother. Sir. And pray how is 
my friend Joe?” the' name by which he called 
Hartley, insinuating thereby, with the jealousy of 
a rival wag, that he drew contributions from the 
stores of the facetious Joseph Miller. 

“In his usual health and spirits,” said Herbert. 

“Inspirits! and without Emily! — a graceless 
dog! The conjugal yoke sits lightly on him. Well, 
I suppose, you had a pleasant party, and killed 
your time very handsomely — and, by the bye, if 
you want employment now, just cut me the leaves 
of that new novel.” 

And, perhaps. Sir, while I am doing that, you 
will tell me the business about which you wanted 
to see me.” 

“Certainly: a very reasonable request. I can 


HERBERT LACY. 


121 


tell it ill a few words. The Bloxwich estate is 
going to be sold, and I am inclined to buy itj and 
as you are the person most concerned, I wanted to 
know if you would like the purchase.” 

Thank you. Sir, you are very good in con- 
sulting my wishes. Yes, I think I should; but it 
is impossible to decide, knowing so little as ” 

Yes, yes; of course it is. You shall know 
more before we have done with it. I have got a 
description of the estate. You will find it some- 
where on that table,” pointing to a heap of papers. 

Allen sent it me; it was from him I heard that 
the property was upon sale. It will be sold, if 
possible, by private contract. I have the first re- 
fusal.” 

“ Is the title good?” 

Yes — all right — I believe I have burnt Allen’s 
letter; but no matter — I can tell you the substance. 
The estate is a good one; well timbered, well farm- 
ed; not run out; and every thing on it in the best 
repair. I have just sold all my mining shares, and 
mean to invest the money in land.” 

‘‘ I think,” said Herbert, ‘‘ it seems desirable, 
and I should be glad to see it yours; but, at the 
same time, I hope you will not let your kind de- 
sire to further my wishes, lead you into any thing 
like precipitation. Another circumstance also 
strikes me, which may deserve some consideration. 
The Bloxwich property lies very near Lord Rod- 
borough’s place. The house, if I remember right, 
can be seen from some of the Bloxwich fields, and 
these must form a part of the view from the win- 
dows at West court. It is, therefore, a much greater 
object to Lord Rodborough than it can possibly be 
to us. You would regard the purchase merely as 
a good investment of money: to him it would form 
a valuable addition to his domain. To him, there- 
fore, it is of much greater consequence; and I was 
thinking whether it might not appear unhandsome 

VoL I. 11 


122 


HERBERT LACY. 


tx) treat secretly for the purchase of a property 
which i should imagine he would be very unwil- 
ling to lose. 1 should think that some previous 
communication ought to take place upon the subject,* 
but I beg your pardon, Sir; I believe I am merely 
saying what has struck you already.” 

You are right, Herbert;' great wits jump. I 
am glad to find that you are as scrupulous as your 
father. I refrained from mentioning my senti- 
ments on the subject only that I might see whether 
yours coincided. I will now tell you what I in- 
tend to do. I shall acquaint Lord Rodborough 
with the offer that has been made me. I shall tell 
him, that viewing the local situation of the proper- 
ty, I consider the first refusal to be rightfully his; 
and that I shall suspend all further treaty for the 
purchase, until I learn that he has no intention of 
becoming its possessor. I have already written a 
letter to this effect, but it is not yet sent. And 
now, Herbert, as you happen to be here, I shall 
crave your assistance: I wish you to be the bearer 
of my letter. You are acquainted with Lord Rod- 
borough, even more than I am myself. As the 
communication is an act of courtesy on my part, 
your visit shall render it more marked; and being 
present, you will have the opportunity of explain- 
ing or enlarging upon any circumstance that seems 
to require it.” 

Herbert expressed his entire compliance, and 
the letter was put into his hand. 

‘‘ It seems singular,” said Herbert, after a few 
moments’ thougft, considering of how much 
greater importance this property is to Lord Rod- 
borough than to you, that the first offer should not 
rather have been made to him.” 

“Very true, Herbert; but the fact is, Allen, 
who is a sharp fellow, remembered to have heard 
me say a short time ago that I meant to sell out of 
those companies, and add to my landed propertj"., 


HERBERT LACY. 


123 


He knows that I have money at hand, and Lord 
Rodborough, in spite of his fine estates, is sup- 
posed not to be blessed ^ith an abundance of ready 
cash.’^ 

The conversation then ceased; it being settled 
that Herbert should call on Lord Rodborough, on 
the morrow, deliver the letter, confer with his 
lordship, and receive his answer. 


124 


HERBERT LACY» 




CHAPTER XII. 

La finesse n’est ni une trop bonne ni une trop mauvaise qua- 
lity, elk plane entre le vice et la vertu. BuuiKnE. 

Julia’s a manao^er — she’s born for rule. 

You>'g. 

It will probably be by this time suspected, that 
it was not merely the wish expressed by Sir Wil- 
liam Lacy, to confer with his son about the Bloxwich 
estate, or even the pleasure of writing, or fear of 
infection, on the part of Lady Lacy, which pro- 
duced the letter that summoned Herbert so sudden- 
ly from Huntley park. Lady Lacy was actuated 
by other motives than those expressed in her let- 
ter^ and made use of a wish for Herbert’s return, 
artlessly thrown out by Sir William, as a- cloak 
for her own purposes. 

The better to explain these, it will be necessary 
to enter into a short account of the views of her- 
self and her daughter, as far as they regarded 
Herbert. 

Lady Lacy’s first wish was to see him well rhar- 
ried. But, although she had a great respect for 
marriage in the abstract, she was not indifferent to 
the choice of the future Lady Lacy, and had alrea- 
dy chosen a help mate for Herbert, in the person of 
Charlotte Hartley, only sister of her present son-in- 
law. The parents of Mr. Hartley had been de- 
ceased rather more than a year, and both died in 
the same twelvemonth. They were grave, precise, 
austere people, of unimpeachable morals, and with 
a strength of religious feeling, which caused them 


HERBERT LACY. 


125 


to be characterized, by their more worldly neigh- 
bours, by that equivocal epithet ^‘evangelical.’^ 
They were, however, unfortunately ill calculated 
to displaj^ these best of feelings, in an engaging 
light. They had not much judgment, and no ta- 
lent, or natural agreeableness, and were not often 
even ordinarily cheerful. They were prejudiced 
and narrow-minded, and though really behind the 
rest of the world in their notions, fancied them- 
selves much before it. 

In the management of their two children, they 
had not been judicious. They had never endea- 
voured to make friends of them, and had enforced 
obedience as a dry matter of duty, unsupported by 
affection. There was no mutual confidence, no in- 
terchange of sentiment, and consequently, as might 
be expected, no similarity of thought. During 
their childhood, a question was always intrusive, a 
remark was presumptions, and any thing like dis- 
cussion was reprobated as a habit of arguing, or as 
a contradiction of those, who w^ere older and wiser. 
Consequently the children grew up with separate 
interests, and feelings different from those of their 
parents, and longed only for the time, when they 
might break through their present restraint. They 
were, unfortunately, put rather too completely into 
possession of this independence, by a relation, who, 
dying a few years back, had left a considerable pro- 
perty, divided equally between Charles Hartley 
and his sister. 

Charles, glad of a plausible reason for removing 
from home, bestowed himself and his newly gained 
competency upon Miss Lacy, and set up a separate 
establishment. Charlotte, who began at the same 
time to assert a right to do as she pleased, was glad 
to escape to her sister-in-law, and had been invited 
with her, to make several long visits at Lacy Park, 
during which time she gained very much upon the 

. .fiffections of Lady Lacy. She was pretty, and tol- 

w 11^ 


126 


HERBERT LACT. 


erably pleasing, and had that ready smile, which 
secured to her, from her acquaintance, the charac- 
ter of a good humoured girl. Her capacity was 
weak, and the severity of her parents operating 
upon a timid disposition, not strongly fortified by 
a sense of duty, had injured the simplicity of her 
character, and driven her into habits of secrecy and 
deceit.. She was affectionate in her manner, to- 
wards those whom she really liked ; and as she was 
fond of Lady Lacy, who was very indulgent, and 
not alarmingly clever, she easily convinced that 
lady, that she had every possible human virtue. 

It naturally followed, that Lady Lacy should 
wish to efiect a marriage between this phoenix and 
her son. The contiguity of estates: the very fact 
of the deceased parents having, like themselves, 
only one son and one daughter, all seemed to point 
out the propriety of this event. Besides, Charles 
Hartley was already her son-in-law, and Lady Lacy, 
who never dreamt of the advantages of extending 
the family connexions, thought that nothing could 
be half so desirable and appropriate, as such a dou- 
ble intermarriage. 

Very different were the views of Mrs. Hartley. 
It was her aim, to prevent her brother from ever 
marrying at all; for she wisely foresaw tliat in the 
event of his remaining single, the whole of the fine 
property to which he was heir, would probably de- 
scend to her children. 

The object was difficult of attainment, and called 
for the exercise of considerable address. It was one 
which she did not avow, even to her husband, well 
knowing, that Charles, even if he would have en- 
tered into her plans, which was very doubtful, was 
the worst plotter imaginable, and would probably 
let out the design in some unlucky fit of sportive- 
ness. It was also directly opposed to the views ot 
Sir William and Lady Lacy, who both wished 
their son to marry, and with whose opinion onthia 


HERBERT LACY. 


127 


point she always expressed the most entire concur- 
rence. She even carried her finesse so far, as to 
appear to enter with great zeal into her mother’s 
plans for effecting a marriage between Herbert and 
Charlotte Hartley. Indeed, upon reflection, noth- 
ing seemed so favourable to her own design. Both 
the parties were under her eye, both equally inti- 
mate, and always assailable by various little hints 
and suggestions. She' saw that Charlotte was not 
likely to attract her brother, and that she did not 
care a great deal for him. She might therefore en- 
courage the dormant passion of each, without much 
danger of bringing affairs to a dangerous crisis, and 
hoped that by adroitly blowing hot and cold, pro- 
ducing just a safe degree of good-will, and circu- 
lating little reports, she could bring them into such 
a half engaged state, as, though it might never end 
in marriage with Charlotte Hartley, would prevent 
Lacy from uniting himself to any other person. 

Such being her design, we may conceive that it 
was with no slight alarm, that she read in a letter 
written to her, by her husband from Huntley, that 
Herbert had fallen deeply in love with Miss Mor- 
ton. True as this might be, it was written very 
unsuspiciously by Hartley, as a mere piece of live- 
ly rhodomontade. Indeed the letter had been sent, 
before it was perhaps strictly true, and at all events 
before it was perceptible. Mrs. Hartley placed no 
great reliance upon the correctness of her husband’s 
statements; but she saw that his present report had 
probability on its side, and her fears were sufficient- 
ly excited, to make her heartily wish her brother 
at home again. In the absence of her husband, 
slie was staying at Lacy Park, and conveniently 
on the spot to confer with her mother. 

Making common cause with her, she strongly 
])ointed out the necessity of endeavouring to get 
Herbert out of harm’s way, and securing dear 


12B 


HERBERT LACY. 


Charlotte from being surplanted by this dangerous 
intruder. 

In this emergency, Sir William fortunately ex- 
pressed a wish to see his son upon business, and 
as it was discovered that the sooner the business 
was concluded, the better, sufficient authority was 
obtained by Lady Lacy, for requiring his immedi- 
ate return. Lacy, though at first surprised on 
finding his return so little expected, or required by 
Lis father, was rather inclined to impute fickleness 
to Afm, than exaggeration to his mother, however 
sensible at the same time, that these faults were 
inherent in each. 

In the course of the evening Lacy tried to sound 
his family upon the subject of the Mortons. Sir 
William was cool and careless, and little disposed 
to talk about them. Lady Lacy, however, was 
less sparing of her remarks, and Herbert was griev- 
ed to perceive in her a more than usual appearance 
of rancour. There was not much either of force 
or novelty in her observations; but what they 
wanted in these respects, they gained in confidence 
and_repetition. She adduced no instances of enor- 
mity, but she was quite satisfied with expressing 
her conviction, that the Mortons were very disa- 
greeable people. 

‘^But,” said Herbert, we have hardly given 
ourselves fair means of judging what they are; we 
really know so little of them. 

“ Know so little? Why, Herbert, I am sure I 
know quite enough of them, especially of Mr. 
Morton; I danced with him before you were born, 
and surely I ought to know what he is. 

“Oh, if you danced with him — certainly Ma’am. 
But that does not apply to the rest of the family. 
Lady Louisa for instance, is, I am told, a very 
quiet, unaffected woman; but then she is so great 
an invalid, you can never find her a sociable neigh- 
bour. The son that is abroad, is supposed to be 


HERBERT LACY. 


129 


clever. Lady Malvern, too, is very cheerful, 
and conversible, and — ’’ 

‘^My dear Herbert, there is no use in talking; 
you will never persuade me, that black is white, 
because I know very well, that the Mortons are 
very disagreeable people. I always used to say 
they were.’^ 

‘‘Mr. Morton has his faults, I believe,” pursu- 
ed Herbert; “ however, his sister, Mrs. Denham, 
was by all accounts, a superior woman — very dif- 
ferent from her brother.” 

“ Very different? Not at all. I knew her as 
well as I know you. I have seen her a thousand 
times; she was as like her brother as she could 
stare.” 

“You misunderstand me, Ma’am; I was not 
speaking of her appearance, it was her character.” 

“ Well, my dear, it is all the same. I say she 
was very like her brother, and so she was, and so 
she ought to be, for they were own brother and 
sister, and very near of the same age. There is 
no use in talking, Herbert; you may say what you 
please, but I know that the Mortons are very disa- 
greeable people.” 

Herbert saw the inutility of argument, and was 
inclined to drop the subject, which probably would 
have been then dismissed, had not his sister, who 
had appeared to take no interest in what had passed, 
carelessly inquired what was the name of Mr, 
Morton’s eldest unmarried daughter. 

“ Agnes,” said Herbert, half-pleased, half alarm- 
ed, at the prospect of hearing his mistress can- 
vassed. 

“ Oh, ay, Agnes. She is very handsome.” 

Herbert glowed with pleasure, at hearing such 
spontaneous praise. Lady Lacy looked aghast, and 
stared at her daughter, as if in doubt, whether she 
heard her words aright. Mrs. Hartley repeated 
her opinion. 


130 


HERBERT LACY. 


^‘Lord! Emily exclaimed her ladyship, in a 
tone of alarm, driven out of all forbearance, by 
what appeared to her so flagrant an instance ol trea- 
chery and desertion. 

Nay, mother, surely she is handsome,’^ replied 
the daughter, giving her at the same time a sig- 
nificant look, which said very plainly, leave her 
to me.’’ 

Lady Lacy acquiesced; but sat meanwhile upon 
thorns, utterly unable to divine her daughter’s sys- 
tem of proceeding, for she was not tactician enough 
to understand the policy of allowing an enemy any 
merit. Mrs. Hartley went on praising the personal 
graces of Agnes, till she thought she had establish- 
ed in her brother’s mind a good opinion of her 
judgment. She then adroitly shifted her ground, 
and after one more observation upon Miss Mor- 
ton’s beautiful eyes, quietly added, they say she 
is not good-tempered.” 

Who said so?” inquired her brother. 

I don’t remember,” replied Mrs. Hartley. 

I saw no symptoms of ill temper,” said Her- 
bert. 

Oh, what, when you met her at the Apple- 
bys? — very likely. One never knows, unless one 
is quite intimate. It is that which makes mar- 
riage such a lottery. What a pretty woman her 
sister is! — Lady Malvern, I mean — and how well 
she has married ! and she had very little fortune, and 
was not nearly so handsome as Agnes. I hear 
they expect her to do better still, and I dare say 
they will carry their point. They are dexterous 
people, and have always been trying to push them- 
selves on.” 

Lacy could not refrain from mentioning the re- 
fusal of Lord Midhurst, as a proof of Miss Mor- 
ton’s disinterestedness. 

‘‘1 dare say she will do better than that,” said 
his sister; Lord Skipton is supposed to be very 


HERBERT LACY. 


131 


much in debt, and could not have made a handsome 
settlement. She was quite right in refusing Lord 
Midhurst, and I have no doubt her family think 
so.’’ 

Herbert had at this moment an unpleasant re- 
membrance of Lord Malvern’s satisfaction at the 
conduct of Agnes, and his confident hope of seeing 
her eventually well married. Doubtless he was 
but reckoning his lady’s sentiments. 

Mrs. Hartley proceeded: I hear they want to 
marry her to her cousin, the Duke of Swansea: 
but he keeps very much aloof. The quarrel has 
been but lately made up. The late duke was not 
upon good terms with the Mortons; he did not ap- 
prove of his sister’s marriage; and no wonder — ^for 
it was a poor match for her.” 

Lady Lacy here could not refrain from telling' 
her son and daughter, what they knew very ^vell 
already, that Mr. Morton had once the presump- 
tion to aspire to her hand. She expatiated at some 
length upon this point, and the subject of the Mor- 
tons was then dropped. 


132 


HEKBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Le monde est plein de gens qui faisant exterieurement et par 
iiabitude la comparaison d’eux memes avec les autres decident 
toujours en faveur de leur propre merite, et agissent conse- 
quemment. 

Un Pamphile est plein de liii merae, ne se perd point de vue, 
ne sort point de I’id^e de sa grandeur, de ses alliances, de sa 
charge, de sa dignite. Bruiere. 

Next morning, sufficiently soon to ensure the 
prospect of finding Lord Rodborough at home, 
without being very unfashionably early, Herbert 
Lacy set out for Westcourt. 

The peer, whom he was about to visit, w’as a 
handsome, dignified looking man, now on the verge 
of threescore, but still vain of his fine person, and 
endeavouring to render less visible the ravages of 
age, by youthful attire of the most fashionable kind. 
His prominent characteristic was an inordinate va- 
nity which obscured many of his best qualities, and 
gave him an air of affectation which, when his age 
was taken into account, caused many persons to un- 
dervalue the sense and talent which he really pos- 
sessed. He was a strange mixture of arrogance and 
good-nature j apparently difficult of access, and im- 
patient of control, but, in truth, easily led by any 
one who would take the trouble to flatter his vani- 
ty; and though repulsive and proud in his general 
deportment, was courteous and winning in his man- 
ner towards those who appeared sufficiently to ac- 
knowledge his high claims. With the great im- 
portance of the Earl of Rodborough, nobody could 
be more fully impressed than he was himself. Po- 


HERBERT LACY. 


133 


pularity he was both too proud and too indolent to 
court, and he rather took the opposite course of 
husbanding his civilities, and not making himself 
cheap and common in the eyes of his neighbours. 
Of them he affected to know very little; seldom 
asked them to his house, and paid off his scores, by 
a sweeping admission to occasional fetes. His hos- 
pitalities were generally confined to people of his 
own set, and a few young men about* town,’^ 
who came to Westcourt to kill his pheasants, and 
dangle in the train of Lady Rodborough. 

Her ladyship was one whom, if one was required 
to express her character in the fewest possible 
words, one should call, a woman of the world. She 
lived for the world, and w’as seldom very happy 
out of it. Every person, and every thing, she 
viewed in a hard, dry, worldly light; and conse- 
quently to those who require some degree of heart, 
not all her conversational powers could render her 
perfectly agreeable. Her daughters, the Ladies 
Jane and Mary Sedley, were clever girls, who 
might have been liked, as well as admired, if they 
had not thought too much of themselves, and been 
drilled upon the exclusive system, into a scrupulous 
fear of committing themselves, by acknowledging 
any body that was not to be seen in certain parties. 

After a ride of eight miles, Lacy arrived at the 
door of Westcourt House, an elegant and extensive 
mansion, in the Palladian style, built by the grand- 
father of the present lord. Lord Rodborough was 
said to be at home, and Lacy dismounted and en- 
tered the house. He was first shown into a waiting- 
room, containing a few family pictures, and some 
genealogical records of the antiquity of the owner’s 
lineage; while the servant went to announce his 
presence to his lordship. After a delay well con- 
trived, to impress the visiter with an awful sense 
of the exalted presence he was about to enter, the 
servant returned to say, that Lord Rodborough was 

VoL I. 13 


134 


HERBERT LACT. 


at liberty to see him, and he was conducted through 
several passages, to what seemed to be his lord- 
ship’s private sitting-room. His lordship was there 
discovered, seated in an easy chair, with a toothpick 
in one hand, and a newspaper in the other. 

As Lacy entered, he looked up with such an air 
of surprise, as might have led any one to suppose 
that he first became conscious at this moment, that 
such a person was in the house. This, however, 
was not the case, for the servant had previously in- 
formed him, who it w’as that solicited the honour of 
waiting upon him, and he had meanwhile been pre- 
paring himself to look as unprepared as possible. 
Peering with half-closed eyes at Lacy as he ap- 
proached, he got up slowly from his chair, and 
leaning with one hand upon the table, that he might 
not appear to rise with too much empressment to 
receive his visiter, he extended to him one finger 
of the other hand, that held the toothpick, and mo- 
tioning to him to take a seat, sunk back gracefully 
into his own chair. 

After answering Lord Rodborough’s gracious 
hope that his father was well, Lacy explained the 
object of his coming, and delivered the letter with 
which he was charged, and which his lordship re- 
ceived with as much condescension of manner, as 
if its object was to entreat a favour instead of con- 
ferring one. Indeed, he had rather it had been so, 
for he was very much alive to the awkwardness of 
being indebted to his inferior. Great also as was 
his respect for that self-possession, which is the re- 
sult of an acquaintance with good society, yet as 
Lacy was a very young man, and merely the son 
of a baronet, he would have been better pleased to 
have seen him sheepishly overwhelmed with the 
awfulness of the presence into which he was usher- 
ed. He could then have been very gracious and 
encouraging, and would have kindly smoothed the 
terrors of his brow, in consideration for the feel- 


HERBERT LACY. 


135 


ings of the downcast youth. But as Lacy did not 
seem by any means awe-stricken, he had only to 
open the letter, and pointing to a roll of paper that 
lay upon the table, “ While I am casting my eye 
over this, Mr. Lacy,’’ he obligingly added, per- 
haps you would like to. amuse yourself with look- 
ing at that map. It is a new survey of my West- 
court property.” Then adjusting his cravat, slowly 
taking snulT, and making sonorous use of a silk 
pocket handkerchief, he vouchsafed to peruse Sir 
William Lacy’s letter. 

Lacy looked up at him, when he thought he had 
finished, and saw with surprise, a transient cloud 
of displeasure pass over his lordship’s brow, as he 
folded it up again. It was not that he was otb-jr- 
wise than pleased with any thing expressed in the 
letter; but he had been ruffled by observing that 
there were no &c.’s under his name in the direc- 
tion, and that though the edges of the noce were 
gilt, those of the envelope were plain. Recover- 
ing himself, however, with admirable facility, and 
looking as if no such slights had been offered, he 
turned to Lacy with an affable smile, and expressed 
himself pleased with the contents of Sir William 
Lacy’s communication. 

‘‘Make my compliments to your father, Mr. 
Lacy, and say that I feel much gratified by his at- 
tention. Let me see — which is this property he 
alludes to? Bloxwich? Bloxwich? Ay, 1 know it. 
It adjoins some covers of mine. I am much obliged 
to Sir William Lacy for remembering the circum- 
stance. I should not have thought of it myself. 
Now you recall it to my mind, I perfectly recol- 
lect the place. Morton used to say, that whenever 
it was sold, I ought to buy it. He thought it was 
an object to me. Perhaps it may be so — I cannot 
be certain — not but if it was mine to-morrow, I 
might never set my foot upon it — and then as for 
buying estates — faith! I don’t know what you may 


136 


HERBERT LACY. 


be, but I am infernally poor, just now, said he, 
with a smile, and a shrug of that happy compla- 
cency, with which the lord of yearly tens of thou- 
sands, can talk of poverty and distress. 

‘‘ This property, my lord,’’ said Lacy, would 
certainly be very desirable to my father. He 
thought, however, that from its situation, it would 
be still more desirable to you, and was therefore 
willing to waive the purchase in your favour, if 
you had any strong wish to possess it. Since, how- 
ever — if I understand you rightly, my lord — since 
it is not so great an object as to make you desirous 
of buying it” — 

Nay,” interposed Lord Rodborough, quickly, 

I don’t say exactly that: it is no such great ob- 
ject to be sure to me; but yet I should certainly 
like to have it. It joins my present estate, as you 
know; and it is a whim of mine, Mr. Lacy, to 
have as much land as I can round my house: I have 
very few thousand acres at present. I hold that a 
certain extent of domain is indispensable to a coun- 
try place; one does not like to be elbowed. I beg, 
at the same time, that you will tell your father 
from me, that if I did not wish to buy the property 
myself, there are no hands in which I had rather 
see it than in his.” 

Lacy bowed quite as low as he thought this mes- 
sage demanded. Lord Rodborough having now 
discussed this business as long as he thought con- 
sistent with his sense of its insignificance, gave a 
turn to the conversation, by addressing a few ques- 
tions to his young visiter. 

“Is your father in parliament?” 

He was answered in the negative. 

‘‘How far is it from hence to — pshaw — what a 
memory I have? What is the name of your father’s 
place!” 

Lacy told him. 

“Ay, exactly so, called after the family name — 


HERBERT LACY. 


137 


a nice comfortable looking place. Pray, did your 
father or grandfather buy it?” 

The ancient blood of the Lacys felt a strong 
disposition to mount rather indignantly into Her- 
bert’s cheeks, as he replied that the property had 
been several hundred years in the family. 

Ay, indeed! I was not aware of it. Pray, are 
not the Dorringtons neighbours of yours?” 

Lacy informed him that they lived about twenty 
miles off. 

Really! — then whose is that cursed fright of a 
red brick house, that affects a park and an avenue, 
about five miles from hence on the London road?” 

That is Coldfield Grange,” said Herbert, “ and 
belongs to Mr. Hartley.” 

Oh, the Hartleys. Ay, I have heard, of them. 
Is your father acquainted with them?” 

Lacy explained the intimate terms they were 
upon, and the marriage hy which the families were 
connected, to all which his lordship replied, by 
carelessly declaring that he was not aware of it. 

Lord Rodborough having by this time, suffi- 
ciently exonerated himself from the imputation of 
knowing too much of the petty concerns of his 
more humble neighbours, began to exhibit what he 
thought would be a flattering curiosity about the 
habits and proceedings of Lacy himself; and pre- 
faced his queries by asking whether he had left 
College. 

Lacy had left it two years. 

Oh — indeed! what University?” 

Oxford.” 

Hem — what college?” 

Christchurch.” 

‘^Christchurch — ah — Malvern went to Christ- 
church. It is not a bad college — (I was there my- 
self) — but damned expensive. I kept eight hun- 
ters, and other things too, faith! if the truth must 
be told ; but then I was thought to exceed a little — 


138 


HERBERT EACr. 


I never let Malvern do such things. Do me the 
favour, — you are nearest to it — do me the favour to 
ring the bell. Did you take a degree?’’ 

‘a did.” 

He had taken a first class degree; but this he did 
not mention. 

Going into any profession?” 

None whatever.” 

‘‘No profession! Perhaps you are the eldest 
son.” 

Lacy assented. 

“ What are your brothers to be? 

Lacy told him that he had none. 

“Oh! the only son— hem! really! Do you ever 
hunt?” 

Lacy informed him that he did. 

“Fond of shooting? Much good shooting at 
Lacy?” 

His visiter said it was tolerably good. 

“ I am glad to hear you are in such luck. Mine 
was infamous last year. You would hardly be- 
lieve it, but we did not kill more in the whole 
season, than fourteen hundred head of pheasants. 
We are overrun with those damned poachers. I 
should like to hang up a score or two; the tread- 
mill is too good for them. 

Lacy could not sincerely applaud the humanity 
of this sentiment. But before he could express 
his guarded dissent, or avoid the question by giv- 
ing a turn to the subject, the door opened, and a 
servant entered. 

“ I am going to drive out,” said Lord Rodbo- 
rough; “order an open carriage.” 

The servant withdrew, and Lacy, who thought 
that he had received more than a sufficient hint, 
rose immediately to take his leave. 

“ Don’t go, I beg,” said his lordship. “ You 
are not detaining me in the least. Do me the fa- 
vour,” he added, seeing that his intimation was 


HERBERT LACY. 


139 


not effectual. ‘‘ Do me the favour to stay a few 
minutes while I write a short note to your father. 
Perhaps you would like to see the house. I will 
direct my servant to show it to you.^’ 

Lacy had nothing to object, and was not more 
obliged than the occasion required. At this mo- 
ment, there entered the room, a gentlemanly good- 
looking man, of upright carriage, and firm step; 
but whom a few wrinkles, and a considerable in- 
termixture of grey with his dark hair showed to 
have passed the middle age. 

“ Morton,^’ said Lord Rodborough, as he ap- 
proached the table, I have something to tell you. 
That Bloxwich farm, which you said I ought to 
have, is to be sold. Mr. Lacy has come here — 
are you acquainted,’^ looking at each alternately, 
and nodding slightly by way of introduction — 

Mr. Lacy has come here with a letter from his 
father, informing me that the property is now upon 
sale; and if /should have any intention to become 
its purchaser, he could not possibly think of in- 
terfering with my wishes. Extremely attentive 
in Sir William Lacy.” 

Lacy felt rather annoyed at the air of servility 
which Lord Rodborough attempted to give to his 
father’s proceedings; and thinking that his own 
letter would set his conduct in a better light, took 
this opportunity of assuring his lordship, that his 
father could not have the slightest objection to the 
letter being seen by any friend to whom Lord 
Rodborough might wish to show it. His lordship 
looked as if he thought such a. permission quite 
unnecessary, and coolly adding, that Morton might 
see it if he liked, hand it to that gentleman. The 
latter received it with a short glance at Lacy, 
which seemed to crave permission from him^ and 
of which he secretly acknowledged the politeness. 

Extremely handsome,” said Mr. Morton, af- 
ter he had read it. ^<The farm is certainly, in 


140 


HERBERT LACV. 


point of situation, by no means so great an object 
to Sir William Lacy as it is to you, my lord; and 
I see,’^ turning towards Lacy, that Sir William 
kindly resigns his claims in consequence. No- 
thing can be more fair and liberal: I only wish one 
could see more instances of this accommodating 
spirit: but it is not every one who, when he has a 
purchase in view for himself, cares how much he 
stands in his neighbour’s light. ” 

Yes, yes — exactly so,” said his lordship, ra- 
ther impatiently, for he was not quite pleased with 
Mr. Morton for seeming to imply that Sir William 
Lacy had acted merely from a liberal wish to ac- 
commodate a neighbour, and not out of any ex- 
clusive consideration for the dignity of the Earl of 
Rodborough: then, hastening to change the sub- 
ject, he repeated to Lacy his offer to let him see 
the house if he wished it. 

Lacy accepted the offer, and Mr. Morton, wdth 
prompt civility, volunteered to be his conductor. 
Lacy was gratified by this attention, much more 
in fact than he could have been by any such atten- 
tion from Lord Rodborough. He was pleased with 
Mr. Morton; and though now disposed to like as 
much as possible, the father of Agnes, yet he was 
agreeably surprised, to find him so much pleasanter 
than he expected. He was struck with his gentle- 
manly address; and having been taught to accuse him 
of sycophancy, was not prepared to discover that 
manly independence, and total absence of servility,- 
which characterized his manner towards Lord Rod- 
borough. He instantly became persuaded, that Mr. 
Morton had long had a great injustice done him by 
his neighbours at Lacy, and was induced by his ci- 
vility to him, to believe that the ill will which had 
been thought reciprocal, was in fact confined to his 
own family. 

They conversed a good deal in their passage 
through the rooms. Mr. Morton made civil in- 


HERBERT LACT. 


141 


quiries after Sir William Lacy, whose habits of se- 
clusion he seemed to suppose had proceeded entire- 
ly from ill health. Lacy afterwards mentioned his 
having met Lady Malvern and Agnes at Huntley 
Park. Pie thought that Mr. Morton looked in- 
quiringly at him, as he pronounced the name of the 
latter, and he consequently felt some slight embar- 
rassment. However, nothing material was said by 
either, and they quickly passed on to another sub- 
ject, their common acquaintance, Mr. Sackville. 
This was a fruitful theme, for they both knew him 
well, and could speak about him without reserve. 

expect him soon,^’ said Mr. Morton, ‘^and 
hope he will make a considerable stay with us. 
Perhaps/’ he added, in a different tone, ‘‘as he is 
so great a friend of yours, I may hope for the plea- 
sure of seeing you at Dodswell some time during 
that period. ” 

It may easily be conceived with what satisfaction 
Lacy received this invitation, an invitation which 
at once removed many of his fears of an ill recep- 
tion from the Mortons, and promised to open to 
him every facility for frequently enjoying the so- 
ciety of Agnes. He abstained, however, from ex- 
hibiting any strong outward symptoms of delight, 
and merely bowed civilly, and professed that he 
should have much pleasure in waiting upon Mr. 
Morton. 

That gentleman, who knew that Lacy and his 
daughter had, for the first time in their lives, pas- 
sed several days together in the same house at Hunt- 
ley, was fully <ilive to the possibility of their hav- 
ing made a favourable impression on each other; 
and in this opinion he was rather confirmed by the 
slight hesitation and embarrassment with which his 
daughter’s name was mentioned by Lacy. This 
was barely perceptible, yet could not altogether 
escape the eye of one who was prepared to look for 
it. From the invitation which followed, we may 


142 


HERBERT LACT. 


collect that the possibility of a marriage between 
Agnes and Lacy was regarded by Mr. Morton with 
no unfavourable eye. In fact, owing to the long 
cessation qf his intercourse with Sir William Lacy, 
every spark of his previous ill will towards that gen- 
tleman had almost expired; and his pride, which 
was great, was now flattered by the idea of having 
the hand of his second daughter sought by the heir 
of that ancient house. 

* He had besides other motives of wishing to sec 
his daughter soon united to the first wealthy sui- 
tor that offered himself. Mr. Morton was a dis- 
tressed man. Proud and ostentatious, and fond of 
courting the society of those who were superior in 
means and station, he had long aspired to a style 
of living to which his fortune was inadequate. He 
was consequently, by this time deeply involved; 
and had already mortgaged almost every acre of 
his landed property. He had long been aware of 
the necessity of retrenchment, and had endeavoured 
to practise it. But the pride which led him into 
this ruinous system of expense, rendered vain liis 
projects of economy. It prevented him, in the first 
place,' from avowing his situation to his wife and 
children, and thereby availing himself of their co- 
operation. He could therefore propose no great 
and effectual measure of retrenchment, lest they 
should demand the reason. For the same cause, 
and for fear of exciting the suspicions of his neigh- 
bours, he made no perceptible alteration in his style 
of living; and satisfied himself with trifling acts of 
self-denial, which, although they goaded him with 
the constant remembrance of his embarrassment, 
produced a saving too small to be of any material 
assistance. 

In this situation, he cast wistful eyes towards the. 
large and increasing fortune of his daughter Agnes. 
From this fortune, unless she previously married, 
he could for the next five years expect no assist- 


HERBERT LACY. 


143 


ance, as it would during that time be in the hands 
of trustee.s, who were not likely to suffer any part 
of it to be applied to the payment of his debts. 
But, in the event of his daughter’s marriage, the 
whole income of this fortune would be at her dis- 
posal ; and if her husband were himself wealthy, 
might probably be devoted, in a great measure, to 
relieve the distresses of her father. 

These considerations made Mr. Morton eager to 
hasten this event, and ready to bestow her upon 
one who, in point of worldly circumstances, was 
so unexceptionable a match as Lacy; and this will 
account for his present civility to that gentlemanj 
on whom, in this their first interview, he made a 
very favourable iilipression. 


144 


HERBERT LACY^ 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Tlie property by what it is should go. 

Not by the title — she is young, wise, fair; 

In these to nature she’s immediate heir. 

And these breed honour. 

^ll*s Well that Ends Well. 

Lacy, on his return from Westcourt, had a con- 
versation with his father on the subject of his visit, 
when, after entertaining him with a humorous ac- 
count of his reception by Lord Rodborough, and the 
acts and sayings of that important personage, he 
came at length to the more interesting relation of 
his meeting with Mr. Morton, and the conversa- 
tion that passed between them. 

Sir William listened in silence, with a manner 
from which it would be difficult to collect whether 
he was gratified or displeased. He gave a slight 
shrug, when his son had ended, and made no im- 
mediate reply. 

Well!’^ he exclaimed at length, to give the 
devil his due, Morton is a well behaved man, and 
I find no fault with you for liking him. He can 
act the gentleman, very creditably. Civility is his 
forte. The man delights in picking up a fresh sub- 
ject to practise upon. He has won all the rest of 
his neighbours, and now he wishes to subdue us.^^ 

“I cannot think him unwise, Sir,’^ replied Her- 
bert, in wishing to cultivate your acquaintance; 
and I hope you will not suppose that there can be 
any thing mean or discreditable in such an endea- 
vour on his part.’’ 


HERBERT LACY. 


145 


^^Discreditable! certainly not. There, Herbert, 
you go too far. If I appeared at all displeased, it 
was only because I thought that, considering our 
relative situations, he might have been somewhat 
less precipitate. He might have suffered the first 
overtures to come from me.” 

In that I entirely agree with you, Sir. But I 
think you will find that he has not been at all want- 
ing in delicacy towards you. His invitation was 
to me, and only with a view to my meeting Sack- 
ville: he expressed no intention of calling upon 
you, or of drawing you into a visit to him: he ra- 
ther seemed to take it for granted that you would 
not visit him — inquired after your health, and 
spoke as if he thought that nothing but indisposi- 
tion on your part had hitherto prevented him from 
being better acquainted.” 

‘‘Why, what the deuce!” exclaimed the baro- 
net, with a humorous look of vexation, “ does the 
fellow think I am bedridden? I hope you did not 
allow him to go away with the persuasion that your 
father is so poor a creature that he cannot pay a 
morning visit.” 

“Perhaps, Sir, I was wrong; but I did not at- 
tempt to undeceive him. Indeed I hardly knew 
what other cause to assign, and I thought it was 
better that he should attribute the cessation of your 
intercourse to your ill health, than to any feeling 
of hostility.” 

“ Hostility! Herbert — God forbid. I am sure I 
wish the man no harm; and if we have never been 
very good friends, it is quite as much his fault as 
mine. If he means to be civil, so do I: if he does 
not, c^est egal. You say he has asked you to his 
house. Very well — then go and see him. I have 
not the least objection to that; only don’t drag your 
aged father out of his sanctuary, and set him down 
to the troublesome task o^ bandying civilities with 
this polished piece of hardware.” 

VoL. I. 13 


146 


HERBERT LACY. 


thank you, Sir,” said Herbert, after a short 
pause, “ for the permission you give me; but I 
would, at the same time, mention that my visiting 
that family will place you in such a situation that 
you cannot, without either a marked display of in- 
civility, or some strong plea, as that of illness, re- 
frain from visiting them too. Mr. Morton may 
probably extend some invitation to yourself, and 
you will then be compelled to do at last, what could 
have been done with a better grace in the first in- 
stance, and you will be placed under the disagree- 
able necessity of following where you ought to lead. 

On this account, I cannot help wishing ” 

‘‘I understand you,” interrupted Sir William; 
^^you wish that I should call upon him first. Very 
well — I will think about it. You may call at all 
events. But,” he added, after a pause, I cannot 
understand, Herbert, why you are now so eager to 
be acquainted with the very persons whom you 
used to hold in such aversion.^’ 

It may here be obser\'ed, in order to account 
for what will otherwise appear a very remarkable 
want of quick-sightedness, that Sir William Lacy 
was hitherto unacquainted with the fact of his son 
having met any of the Morton family at Huntley 
Park. Far from suspecting him of having fallen 
in love with Miss Morton, he was not even certain 
that any such person existed. He knew that the 
lady who was Miss Morton was now married to 
Lord Malvern; but his information did not extend 
to the fact of her having a younger sister. All the 
little details respecting the afiairs of his neighbours, 
which the microscopic mind of Lady Lacy gleaned 
and retained so faithfully, were to him a species of 
rubbish which he impatiently dismissed from his 
thoughts. Nor did he often avail himself of his la- 
dy’s retail assortment of petty information. Led, by 
a pardonable predilection for beauty, into marrying 
a woman of a very ordinary mind, he soon disco- 


HERBERT LACY. 


147 


vered that there was little similarity in their turn, 
of thought. Her vapid and pointless conversation 
generally gave him a sensation of weariness; and 
as she never understood his jokes, he had as little 
satisfaction in talking as in listening to her. Lady 
Lacy’s love of talking was not checked by this 
want of a willing hearer: but if she did not relax 
in her volubility. Sir William did in his attention, 
and in course of time relaxed into a habit of seldom 
hearing any thing she said. His mechanical assent, 
though it might perhaps have deceived a stranger, 
and was even some satisfaction to Lady Lacy, was, 
nevertheless, the sure indication of perfect ab- 
sence. 

Lady Lacy, despairing of finding in her husband 
a willing listener to her matrimonial views respect- 
ing Herbert, had not communicated to him any of 
the little machinery which she had put into pky, 
in conjunction with her daughter, for the purpose 
of withdrawing him from the fascinations of Miss 
Morton. She had, however, said a little about 
this young lady being at Huntley, to which little 
Sir William paid no attention, and was now as un- 
conscious as if that piece of intelligence had never 
been uttered in his presence. 

We left the baronet expressing his wonder that 
his son should be anxious to visit the Mortons. 
A silence followed this remark. Herbert was to 
speak, and his rising colour and anxious counte- 
nance showed that he was with some difficulty 
making up his mind to a communication of no com- 
mon importance. His father attentively watched 
him, and preserved an air of silent expectation. 

I could give you,” said Herbert, spealdng 
slowly and with evident effort, many reasons 
for my wish to be better acquainted with the Mor- 
tons — reasons that would be quite satisfactory, and 
partly real. But I could not reconcile myself to 
any thing short of a full explanation. I have one 


148 - 


HERBERT LACY. 


reason, which with me outweighs every other. I 
am attached to Miss Morton.’^ 

The words were spoken almost breathlessly, and 
Herbert cast down his eyes as if oppressed by the 
effort, and wanting the will or power ta look up 
and watch the impression they had made. Sir Wil- 
liam heard him without exhibiting much either of 
surprise or displeasure. He, however, turned for 
an instant rather red, and looked grave and per- 
plexed. He did not immediately speak, and the 
communication was followed by a silence of many 
seconds. 

Are you engaged to this lady?’^ were the baro- 
net’s first words, which were uttered in a tone 
studiously modulated, so as not to convey either 
approbation or the contrary. Herbert felt relieved 
by the straight-forward calmness of the question. 

I am not engaged to her, Sir,” he answered. 

Miss Morton has never heard me speak so ex- 
plicitly as I now speak to you. But my attach- 
ment cannot be unknown to her. She must have 
guessed it; and I think is disposed to return it. 
Of this I feel so confident that I would have offer- 
ed myself, without fear of rejection, when I last 
saw her, had I been secure of your approval. But I 
determined to take no further steps without first 
consulting you.” 

Right, my boy, quite right. But let me un- 
derstand who the lady is. Is she the younger sis- 
ter of Lady Malvern?” 

She is.” 

And you met her -” 

At Lord Appleby’s.” 

‘‘Humph! a very long acquaintance! I shall 
not ask you any thing, Herbert, about her looks 
and her disposition. You are attached to her — 
that is enough. Of coarse she is a phoenix in your 
eyes, and the only woman that can ever make you 
happy. I can allow for the flights of a young man 


HERBERT LACY. 


149 


in your situation. I am not so unreasonable as to 
expect you to talk very rationally on such a sub- 
ject.’’ 

I am aware, Sir, that whatever I say in praise 
of Miss Morton, must necessarily be received with 
some distrust; and I am therefore, the more anx- 
ious that you should be enabled to see her, and 
judge for yourself. This was my reason for wish- 
ing to persuade you to visit the Mortons.” 

‘‘And so I will, Herbert, I was half-inclined 
before, but now I am determined. An old head 
is very useful in these cases, when you young 
people are in the third heaven, with your brains 
half turned, and your eyes not half open. I 
will see your lady Herbert, and I trust I shall 
approve of her. I don’t like the family, that I 
tell you once for all; I never did like them, and I 
fear I never shall. Besides, it is a bad connexion; 
low — unw'orthy of you, and very inferior to what 
I always hoped you would make.” 

“ They are well connected,” said Herbert. 
“The Swanseas, the Rodboroughs ” 

“ True, true, others have disregarded their low 
extraction. There is but little pride of the true 
kind left, and l am the more anxious to keep alive 
the few sparks which I feel myself. I dare say, 
in this enlightened age, people would call it preju- 
dice. Commend me, Herbert, to an old prejudice. 
There is often more solid virtue in it, than in all 
the new fangled wisdom of your modern lights* 
But I won’t stay moralising. Oh! it will do ex- 
tremely well; the Mortons sprung from the mine, 
and so does the diamond. There is a simile. Sir, 
for your lady’s eyes. But it is no joking matter. 
It vexes me, Herbert — it vexes me; but for your 
sake I will make the best of it. You have behaved 
extremely well; you could not control your affec- 
tions, nor did I expect it; but what you could do, 
you have done. I say again, I don’t like it, but 


150 


HERBERT LACY. 


it concerns you, more than me: and God forbid, 
my dear son, that I should sacrifice your happi- 
ness to the gratification of my own feelings.’^ 

Sir William held out his hand to his son, which 
the latter grasped with fervent gratitude, and ac- 
companied this testimony with many a warm ex- 
pression of sincere thanks. 

‘‘ Herbert, you have almost gained me,’^ pur- 
sued the baronet; ‘‘ but your hardest task is still 
to come. This news will be a blow to your mo- 
ther: she hates the Mortons, like toad or asp; and 
besides, I think has set her heart upon seeing you 
married to Charlotte Hartley. You must go cau- 
tiously to work.’’ 

I fear I must,” replied Herbert, thoughtfully. 
I am thinking, when and how to break it to 
her.” 

And I am thinking,” said the baronet, that 
for the present, you had better not break it to her 
at all. I don’t counsel you to be less open in your 
general conduct to her, than you are to me: the 
same duty is owed to both. But this is a peculiar 
case. To your mother’s virtues, Herbert, neither 
of us is a stranger. She is as good a wife, and as 
good a mother as ever lived: but she has strong 
prejudices — prejudices which, I fear, are not to be 
combatted by reason, and which time alone can 
soften. One of the strongest of her impressions is 
an aversion to the Morions. If she sees that you 
are an interested person, she will receive all you 
say with distrust, and will only cling more firmly 
to her old persuasion. Pursue a gentle unobtrusive 
course, and in due time, I have no doubt, you may 
sooth her into charity with all the world. Lady 
Louisa Morton not excepted.” 

After a little further conversation, it was settled, 
that on an early day. Sir William Lacy should go 
over with his son to Dodswell, and call upon Mr. 
Morton. It was a great sacrifice for the baronet 


HERBERT LACY. 


151 


to make, as it was opposed, at the same time, by 
his pride, his indolence, and the inveterate influ- 
ence of a habit of seclusion. But his mind [being 
once made up, cheerfully complied, and exhaled 
all his spleen, through the easy medium of a few 
testy jokes. 

Lacy’s prospects were also brightened, though 
unknown to him, by the circumstance of his sister 
having quitted them on that day. She was expect- 
ed to be absent for the next three weeks on visits 
at a distance. Thus, her quiet but dangerous op- 
position, and the artful difficulties which she could 
have thrown in the way of a meeting with the Mor- 
tons, would now for a time be withdrawn, and noth- 
ing remained but to pacify the fears of Lady Lacy, 
whose astonishment was extreme, when she heard 
that Sir William was actually going to call upon 
the MortonSi 

Why, surely. Sir William you cannot be seri- 
ous,” she exclaimed,, in a high pitched tone of 
wonder. 

Quite serious! Ask Herbert!” was his quiet 
reply. 

‘‘Oh, I dare say you are both in the same tale: 
but what makes you go to visit those Mortons, of 
all people in the world.^” 

“ I will tell you in a few words. Mr. Morton 
met Herbert the other day, and asked him to his 
house. This showed a wish on his part to be civil. 
Herbert is bound to call upon him, and I take that 
opportunity of being civil too.” 

“It is really very strange,” said her ladyship, 
“ to visit those people now at last, after having 
lived near them so long, and never taken any no- 
tice; if they were to be called upon, why did you 
never, do it before?” 

“Very true — why did not I? But I am afraid, 
that is not worth an inquiry now. If they were 
ever worth visiting, they are so at present; and if 


152 


HERBERT LACY. 


I have long arrears to pay, the sooner they are paid 
the better. I go to Dodswell — that is decided. 
You, my dear, if you like, may also do yourself the 
pleasure of waiting upon Lady Louisa. 

But I don’t like, and it is not a pleasure, and 
Lady Louisa might have waited upon me.” 

‘‘But, my dear, you forget that she is an invalid. 
She has been under a course of elegant indisposi- 
tions for the last ten years at least.” 

“Invalid! Yes, a fine excuse!” said Lady Lacy, 
looking very indignant. “I dare say if I ivas to 
call upon her, she would not return my visit: and 
all because she thinks herself ill. I don’t see why 
I have not a right to be an invalid too.” 

“ So you have, my dear, an undoubted right; 
but not to be so great an invalid as Lady Louisa. 
She was a duke’s daughter, you were only a simple 
gentlewoman. 

“ That does not signify at all: a gentlewoman is 
a gentlewoman all the world -over, and I expect to 
be treated as one; and I shall have nothing to do 
with her ladyship, I promise her, unless she calls 
first upon me, or sends some message to say why 
she does not. ” 

The visit was made, and terminated as such visits 
often do. Mr. Morton was from home, and was 
not expected back for several days; and the baronet 
and his son had only the satisfaction of leaving their 
cards. On their return. Lady Lacy met them with 
a face of more glee than could have been expected, 
considering how much the visit which they had 
just paid, had been contrary to her inclinations. 
She held in her hand two cards, about which she 
seemed to have much to say. 

“Well, Sir William,” she began, “ I am quite 
glad, that Herbert came home from Huntley, and 
went over to Lord Rodborough. I am sure I 
thought it was quite proper; and here, you see, 
they have not forgotten it. The servant is only 


HERBERT LACY. 


153 


just gone. Philip says he had more cards to leave. 
I dare say he is going to the Hartleys — the Hart- 
leys know Lord Rodborough and — ” 

^‘My dear Lady Lacy,” interrupted Sir Wil- 
liam, I dare say you are talking excellent sense, 
but I really cannot catch your meaning.” 

Lady Lacy put into his hand two cards, one ad- 
dressed to Sir William and herself, the other to 
Herbert, requesting the pleasure of their company 
to a ball, to be given by the Earl and Countess of 
Rodborough, at the distance of about a month from 
that time. 

The baronet read them with a smile. No fool 
like the old fool,” said he. Lord Rodborough 
give a ball! why should not I? I am old enough.” 

Very true,” said his lady, quietly; ‘‘ but we 
have no unmarried daughters. Sir William.” 

^^Spokea like an oracle; and you thereby im- 
ply, that those who have no unmarried daughters 
have no occasion to give balls. You never ex- 
pressed yourself more pithily. Rest your collo- 
quial fame on that, as Dr. Johnson said before me.” 

Lady Lacy did not seem to understand him; and 
prudently avoiding a collision with Dr. Johnson, 
went on lamenting the circumstance of their having 
no unmarried daughters. If we had, you know, 
Sir William, I could have taken them to this ball.” 

‘‘True, my dear; but I would have you consi- 
der, that if you had several unmarried daughters, 
you might never have had this ball to take them 
to;” and having delivered this whimsical specimen 
of a logical deduction with much significance and 
solemnity, he withdrew, leaving Lady Lacy to the 
hopeless task of unravelling the hidden meaning of 
his parting spee'ch. 


154 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Slight are the outward signs of evil thought — 

Within — within — ’twas there the spirit wrought. 

Brnojr. 

On the fourth day after Sir William Lacy’s visit 
to Dodswell, Mr. Morton rode over to pay his re- 
spects to the baronet. His reception, though not 
exactly cold, was rather constrained; and there was, 
on either side, a measured civility, a punctilious at- 
tention, and a scrupulous selection of subjects, which 
showed how far they were from being upon easy 
terms. Lady Lacy received Mr. Morton at first 
with positive coldness. Herbert was not present; 
and the visit would probably have been far from 
satisfactory to the feelings of any of the parties, had 
not Mr. Morton been accompanied by one who was 
secure of a favourable reception from the Lacys, 
and whose ingratiating manners, and agreeable con- 
versation tended very much to break the formality 
of the meeting. This was Mr. Sackville, the com- 
mon friend of Herbert Lacy and the Mortons. 

Mr. Sackville was, at this time, not more than 
thirty-four, and bore in his countenance the ap- 
pearance of being still younger. He was of mid- 
dling stature, and was altogether one who would 
not any where have been remarked, either as a 
handsome or an ordinary person. His face, how- 
ever, if not regularly handsome, w^as very prepos- 
sessing, particularly when he spoke. Its expres- 
sion was acute without being sarcastic; and full of 
mild intelligence and playful animation. There 


HERBERT LACY. 


155 


was a fascination in his smile, and an ingratia- 
ting warmth in his manner, which made every- 
one fancy themselves, for the time, the objects 
of his peculiar favour. In society he was very 
agreeable; his conversation was sensible, varied, 
and amusing, displaying considerable information 
and knowledge of the world, and was always adapt- 
ed with much skill to the tastes of his associ- 
ates. Added to this, he had an air of openness and 
sincerity which conciliated good opinion; and he 
was master of that refined flattery, which by an 
almost imperceptible air of deference, raises per- 
sons in their own opinion, while, at the same 
time, it equally exalts the character of him who 
employs it. 

Such were the captivating qualities of Sackville; 
would we could add, that his disposition corres- 
ponded with the bright promise which these afibrd- 
ed. Sackville w^as an example of the slight degree 
of virtuous feeling attainable by a man of cool tem- 
perament and strong sense, when unawed by con- 
scientious fears, without one sentiment of religion, 
regulating himself only by the practice of the world, 
and his own dry, self-formed rule of expediency. 
He was, in fact, a man without one grain of prin- 
ciple, utterly selfish, perfidious, and heartless: one 
whom no generous feeling warmed, and to whom 
the most touching appeal would have been made in 
vain. His ruling motive was self-interest, and to 
this he could sacrifice, with remorseless steadiness, 
the welfare of his dearest friends. He was not what 
is usually called a vicious man. He indulged in no 
pleasures to excess, and was regular in his habits. 
He knew the value of appearances, and paid a care- 
ful attention to decorum. Fortunately, as society 
is now constituted, morality and religion are not 
so unfashionable but that some appearance of both 
is often thought desirable, even by those who do 
not possess the least of either. This was precisely 


156 


HERBERT LACY. 


Sackville’s view of the case. Had atheism been 
fashionable he would probably have professed it; 
but as irreligion is no longer considered the badge 
of talent, he maintained a decorous observance of 
the ordinances of his church, and always spoke of 
it and its ministers with respect. He was not a man 
of strong passions. He neither loved nor hated vio- 
lently. His proceedings were seldom influenced by 
feeling. They were the cool result of calculation; 
and, whether friend or foe opposed his plans, he was 
equally ready to sacrifice him. He could assume the 
appearance of every virtue without possessing the 
reality of any: nay, his very vices were subdued into 
order and subjection, and reserved, as it were for 
great occasions. His very selfishness, inordinate 
as it was, could be laid aside in the commerce of 
society; and petty kindnesses would be gracefully 
rendered, and little acts of self-denial cheerfully in- 
curred in behalf, perhaps, of an individual, whom, 
to secure his own advantage, he could ruin without 
a pang. His abilities were of a high order, and 
while they included much that was elegant, were 
still eminently practical. He was very adroit in 
matters of business, and had a quick insight into 
character, and a simple and persuasive eloquence, 
which gave him a considerable influence over those 
with whom he was brought into contact. He had 
been several years the representative of a small 
borough, and had made himself useful and respect- 
ed in the House of Commons; and spoke, if not am- 
bitiously, yet always sensibly and well. 

Sackville was received with great cordiality by 
Sir William and Lady Lacy, who, though they did 
not know much of him, were pleased with his 
manners; and who, had he been much less agree- 
able, would have still felt themselves bound to wel- 
come with warmth and gladness the friend and pre- 
server of their son. Cheered by his presence, and 
enlivened by his conversation, the party began to 


HERBERT LACY. 


157 


relax from their formality: and Mr. Morton seem- 
ed to have an additional claim to the goodwill of 
the Lacys in his connexion with Sackville. He 
also appeared to feel the same himself, and, set at 
ease by this consideration, he was enabled to make 
himself agreeable to his restored acquaintance with 
increased success. Before he went, he had even 
considerably re-established himself in the good 
graces of Lady Lacy, and had conveyed to her an 
apologetic message from Lady Louisa, so prettily 
worded, as almost to disarm her punctilious pride, 
and very much soften her dislike of that lady. 

When her visiters were gone. Lady Lacy allow- 
ed that Mr. Morton was not a vulgar man in his 
manners, and she really thought did not look much 
older than he did twenty years ago; and, as for Lady 
Louisa, she was sorry for her, poor woman ! She 
could easily believe that she had even worse health 
than the world supposed — nobody knew what she 
suffered. 

A heavy load of doubt and anxiety had been 
already removed from Herbert’s mind by the fa- 
vourable results of the few last days; and his spi- 
rits received additional exhilaration from the arri- 
val of a note from the Mortons, inviting them all 
to dine at Dodswell, on Thursday the twenty-eighth; 
and again politely hoping that Lady Lacy would 
have the kindness to dispense with the formality of 
a call from Lady Louisa. Lady Lacy was appeased 
by this message; and though she vowed that she 
would not compromise her dignity by going over 
to Dodswell to call upon Lady Louisa, yet had not 
the least objection to dining there on the tw'enty- 
eighth. Sir William groaned at the sight of the 
note; wondered that people could not let each other 
alone; and said, with a desponding air, that his days 
of peace and comfort were past. 

I suppose, Sir William, I may say you will 
o-o?” said his lady, not at all moved by his distress. 

VoL. I. H 


15S 


HERBERT LACr. 


Certainly not, if you can help it. Cannot you 
think of some excuse?’^ I dare say there is no moon; 
come, be nervous, cannot you? You would not 
surely come back along those bad roads on a dark 
night?^’ 

Lady Lacy went to consult the almanack, and 
soon informed him that on the twenty-eighth, the 
moon would be nearly at the full. 

Provoking!’’ said the baronet. To be drag- 
ged out against one’s will to eat another man’s din- 
ner, when one had so much rather have one’s own. 
Disengaged too — good moon — good health — every 
thing against one — not the shs^dow of an excuse. 
Why could not I have the gout now? It often 
comes when I don’t want it — even a cold would 
save me — I have a good mind to have a cold, only 
I am so inconveniently honest, I cannot tell a lie 
without some foundation. Well, my lady — what 
now? Are you studying Moore’s predictions?” 

Lady Lacy, with a puzzled look, was poring over 
the almanack. They have made a mistake,” 
said she. . “ The twenty-eighth is on a Friday; now 
the note says, Thursday the twenty-eighth. I sup- 
pose they meant Friday — Sir William, don’t you 
think so?” 

Sir William did not hear her. 

SiV William!” she repeated, ^‘Friday is the 
twenty -eighth — we must go to them on Friday.” 

‘‘ Well my dear, I am quite resigned. Oh! there 
is Herbert — Herbert, have you any engagement for 
the twenty-eighth?” 

None whatever.” 

Very well — then Lady L., you may tell 
them that Herbert will come too.” 

Lady Lacy’s answer was soon written, scaled 
and sent, and nothing further occurred worthy of 
attention through the long interval between that 
time, and the twenty-eighth. The expected first 
visit was looked forward to with very different 


HERBERT LACY. 


159 


feelings by the three members of the party in- 
vited — by Sir William Lacy, as a positive evil, tff 
which he was hardly reconciled by thinking it a 
necessary one; by Lady Lacy, with more curiosity 
than she chose to confess; and by Herbert with 
that deep feeling of lively interest, with which a 
youthful lover may be supposed to contemplate an 
event, which restores himrf>nce more to the society 
of the object of his attachment. His first presen- 
tation at the king’s levee, had not been half so full 
of interest and excitement, as vvas the prospect of 
this, the first evening that he should pass in the 
house of Mr. Morton. Every thing seemed to 
favour him — ever\ thing had turned out well, be- 
yond his utmost expectations. Prejudices had 
melted away, which he had deemed almost im- 
moveable; and the reconciliation had been so easily 
effected, that he was now more inclined to wonder 
why the families should have been so long disu- 
nited. 

All would now be healed; and Sackville, the 
common friend of both families, was happily at 
hand, to cement their friendship and strengthen 
their growing feelings of good will. 


160 


HERBERT LACY-- 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Afflict us not, ye Gods, though sinners. 

With many days like this, or dinners. 

SoAME Jextks. 

At length the twenty-eighth arrived, the car- 
riage was at the door, and after waiting some time 
for "Sir William, with whom punctuality was not 
among the foremost of his virtues, the party set out 
for Dodswell. It was a cold and rainy afternoon, 
thoroughly uncomfortable, as a cold day in summer 
always is. Sir William was particularly annoyed 
at the weather, and uttered a good deal of invec- 
tive against English seasons, and country hospital- 
ities. ‘‘This is what I call pleasure,” said he, 
with an ironical grin, as he threw himself back in 
the carriage. “ Conceive, if you can, a spectacle 
more delightful, than that of a whole family going, 
in the very worst of weather, six miles out and 
back again, actuated and supported only by a no- 
ble determination to do as other people do. Seri- 
ously, this was all very well in the dark ages, but 
we ought to have devised some better system in 
the nineteenth century. People must set a higher 
value upon themselves, to think it can be worth 
your while to take all this trouble for the sake of 
five hours of their society. I hope we are not 
early. They deserve to wait dinner for asking 
us. I would even have the gout at this moment, 
to escape that purgatorial period of suspense, that 
one undergoes in the drawing-room. There is 
another blot in the system. People should sit 


HERBERT LACY. 


161 


clown as they come. Nobody should be waited 
for. The comfort of dinner is ruined by ceremo- 
ny. If I were a king, as the children say, I 
Avould abolish the whole etiquette of the table, and 
let people do as they like. What in the world 
would it signify, if one even eat one’s cheese be- 
fore one’s fish?” 

It would look very odd,” said Lady Lacy. 

‘^Look! ay, there we are — and pray. Ma’am, 
what signify looks? Nobody looks well, when 
they are eating their dinner. Nobody ever saw 
man, woman, or child, that sat for their portrait, 
painted eating; a proof that the action is not be- 
coming.” 

At length they arrived within sight of Dodswell. 
It was a fair specimen of the average of private 
gentlemen’s places. The grounds were of tolera- 
ble extent, but flat and tame; the house, spacious 
and respectable in its appearance, but by no means 
conspicuous for ornament; and built, in that ab- 
sence of all styles, which, for want of a better 
name, we call English. In fine weather, the place 
looked tolerably pretty; but now, with its damp, 
green flats, its deep, dark masses of wet foliage, 
and the melancholy groups of dingy sheep, con- 
gregated round the black stems of the spreading 
elm-trees, it looked thoroughly dull and deplorable; 
and Sir William did nothing but abuse it all the 
way from the entrance-gate to the house-door. 

Arrived there, and the bell being wrung with 
all the energy of impatience, by the dripping ser- 
vant, there arose a fresh subject of complaint, in 
the delay, to which they were exposed, the sum- 
mons not being answered with the alertness usual 
in such cases. The baronet grumbled exceedingly 
at their tardiness, and as soon as the door was open- 
ed, without more ado, bustled into the house fol- 
lowed by his wife and son. Mr. Morton’s butler, 
who did not seem much better pleased than the 
14 ^ 


162 


HERBERT LACV. 


baronet, stared, and shuffled, and hesitated, as he 
conducted the party through the rooms, and at last 
said rather drily, that his master and mistress 
were dressing for dinner.” 

Oh! then we are in excellent time,” said Sir Wil- 
liam. I am glad to hear it,” with a look at Lady 
Lacy which expressed quite the reverse. 

The servant stared again, looked at their dresses, 
and announcing, in a muttering tone, Sir Wil- 
liam and Lady Lacy,” as he crossed the doorway 
of the next room, withdrew, with the same inex- 
plicable look of perplexity with which he met them 
at the entrance door. 

No sooner were their names announced, and 
scarcely had they entered the inner sitting room, 
than a gentleman, in an evening dress, who was 
sitting in an arm chair reading a newspaper, rose 
and came forward to meet them, and they found 
themselves accosted by Mr. Sackville. He re- 
ceived them with that graceful ease and warmth 
which were always at his command; yet he was 
evidently taken by surprise: and there was some- 
thing in his manner which they could not entirely 
understand. 

“ This is an unexpected pleasure,” said he, after 
tke first greetings. I had given up all hopes of 
meeting you here.” 

Why, to be sure, it is bad weather for leafving 
home,” said the baronet; but you don’t know how 
hardy we are.” 

‘‘And we always keep our engagements,” said 
his lady. 

“ Do you?’^ replied Sackville, with a laugh, 
which had evidently some meaning in it which 
none of his hearers comprehended. 

With this they might probably have been soon 
made acquainted, for he was going to proceed in 
explanation, when the door opened, and Miss Mor- 
ion entered the room. She cast a look of much 


HERBERT LACY. 


163 


surprise at the assembled party, advanced irreso- 
lutely, seemed confused and hurried in an unusual 
degree, and evinced an agitation, which, for want 
of any other probable reason, was accounted for in 
the manner most flattering to Herbert, by Sir Wil- 
liam, Lady Lacy, and the gentleman himself. 
These being their thoughts, it was not unnatural 
that they should partake of her embarrassment; 
and as both parties seemed very much at a loss 
what to do or say, the dexterous self-possession of 
Sackville came very seasonably to their relief. In 
an instant he had gone through the duties of intro- 
duction, reassured Agnes by a look, and found 
them a subject to begin with in the unpleasant state 
of the weather. But before many words could be 
said on this subject, both he and Agnes seemed de- 
sirous to change the conversation, and to say 
something else, which they scarcely knew how to 
bring in. 

At this crisis the door was opened a second time, 
and in walked, slowly, Mr. Morton, dressed for 
dinner, deliberately unfolding a well scented cam- 
bric handkerchief. He had made two or three 
steps into the room, before he appeared conscious 
of the presence of his visiters; but upon seeing them, 
his surprise was testified even more strongly than 
was that of Agnes, and of Sackville. He stopped 
short, looked as if he scarcely believed his eyes, 
and uttered a short exclamation of astonish- 
ment. It was evident that he did not expect his 
guests, and that there had been some mistake: 
what it was, remained to be told, and this was soon 
done. 

We expected you yesterday,’’ were almost his 
first words; and the state of the case was made 
clear at once. It required all Sackville’s command 
of countenance, to forbear a smile at the effect of 
tlic discovery, and the exercise of all Mr. Morton’s 
politeness to be able to add, with a tolerable air of 


164 


HERBERT LACY. 


sincerity, some broken sentences about ^^unex- 
pected pleasure,’’ and “glad not to miss them en- 
tirely.” His chagrin, nevertheless, was very ap- 
parent, though perhaps, a good deal might pass 
with his guests for the effects of embarrassment and 
surprise. He, however, prudently covered his 
confusion by a speedy retreat, professedly for the 
purpose of apprising Lady Louisa of the arrival of 
their guests, but really, with a View of arranging 
matters behind the scenes. 

He soon re-entered the saloon with Lady Louisa, 
where they found Lady Lacy, still inflicting upon 
Agnes her oft repeated wonder how the mistake 
should have occurred; declaring she was always 
very particular; never did such a thing before, nor 
ever knew a similar instance. Lady Louisa re- 
ceived her guests with great politeness and good 
humour; and said just what was necessary, and no 
more. It was an occasion admirably fitted to show 
her off to the best advantage; for she had too much 
apathy to be disconcerted or ruffled by surprise or 
vexation; and as her manner was almost the same 
to every body, that which seemed a tame and heart- 
less greeting to intimate friends, bore a very re- 
spectable character of warmth to those who were 
almost perfect strangers. Therefore, though un- 
used to shine, her well-bred placidity in the pre- 
sent instance, made her appear, in the eyes of her 
visiters, a much more amiable and agreeable per- 
son than even her more popular husband, in whom, 
mortified vanity and habitual good breeding were 
exercising a painful struggle. 

To a man, proud, sensitive, and ostentatious, as 
Mr. Morton was, it must be confessed, that the 
present incident, though somewhat ludicrous, was 
very trying. Few persons appear to advantage 
when suddenly put out of their way; and many 
who bear great trials with admirable fortitude, are 
not proof against the vexations of petty domestic 


HERBERT LACY. 


165 


misadventures. In fact, Mr. Morton was wound- 
ed in his tenderest point. He had been particu- 
larly solicitous to make a favourable first impres- 
sion upon the Lacys. His house had been filled, 
on the preceding day, with a large and fashionable 
party, containing, among others. Lord and Lady 
Malvern, and a younger brother of the Duke of 
Swansea, all of whom had left him that morning. 
It had been a party well calculated to display his 
high connexions, and good reception in the world; 
and to gain him, as he thought, the respect, and 
perhaps the envy, of his more aristocratic neigh- 
bour. Nothing had been wanting to make his en- 
tertainment handsome, even beyond what could 
have been expected from one of his apparent means; 
and not only had this opportunity been missed, 
not only had the non-arrival of the Lacys produced 
a delay on the preceding evening, and injured the 
symmetry of the arrangements, but these very peo- 
ple, of all others, whom he wished to impress with 
an idea of his consequence, must burst upon him by 
surprise, and make themselves witnesses of the mea- 
gre* homeliness of a family dinner. Added to this, 
Sir William, who was always attracted by the lu- 
dicrous side of every circumstance, seemed so 
much diverted with their strange mistake, that Mr. 
Morton began to suspect that it had not been to- 
tally unintentional; and, as the baronet was known 
to be waggishly disposed, and had, by living so 
much to himself, acquired the character of an ec- 
centric man, nothing of this kind appeared so im- 
probable as it would have been in another person. 

Mr. Morton^s pride was chafed almost beyond 
concealment by this last galling supposition; and it 
was as much as he could do to preserve a proper 
demeanour towards his guests. His anger found 
a plausible vent in the long delay of dinner: and 
truly this was not one of the least of their miseries. 
For one tedious hour, at least, did they sit in dull 


166 


HERBERT LACY. 


and blank suspense. In spite of all they could do, 
conversation flagged extremely. They had few 
topics of common interest. Mr. Morton was too 
fidgetty and abstracted to be in the humour to con- 
tribute much. Sir William Lacy was annoyed at 
having to wait so long for his dinner. Lady 
Louisa was no great talker; Lady Lacy was de- 
pressed by a consciousness that the whole mistake 
had been of her making; Herbert and Agnes did 
not feel quite at ease; could not shake off the im- 
pression that their situation was known and ob- 
served; and were anxiously considering the pro- 
bable results of this inauspicious first visit. 

Sackville was the only person who was perfectly 
cheerful and unembarrassed; and a little conversa- 
tion between him and Herbert was almost the only 
thing that tended to enliven the party till the long- 
desired announcement of dinner. This was heard 
as a most welcome relief by all; for independent of 
those vulgar dictates of nature which periodically 
admonish us that, however refined, we must be fed, 
they would have been glad, at that time, of any 
change of place and occupation. Every counte- 
nance seemed to brighten, and Mr. Morton’s im- 
proved in an especial manner. He was consoled 
by the appearance of his table, which was, all things 
considered, very creditable. Some of his best plate 
had been hastily pressed into the service. The re- 
past, to be sure, was scanty; but then the jjlateau 
was rather too large for the table: so that upon the 
whole it did not look ill filled. By degrees he got 
into good humour with himself, his table, his house- 
hold, and his guests; and though, the fish was over- 
done and the soup cold, yet, trusting that in other 
respects Monsieur the cook, had acquitted himself 
in such a way as to bring no discredit on himself 
and his master, he at length ventured to apologize 
and deplore, with tolerable cheerfulness, the infa- 
mous dinner which his visiters were compelled 
to eat. 


HERBERT LACY. 


167 


Only one thing more of any consequence occurred 
to vex him. He had some very good champagne, 
part of the batch which Lord Rodborough had im- 
ported, a circumstance much in its favour; and in 
this point was his vanity wounded. It was not 
that any other wine had been carelessly substituted, 
nor had it lost its spirit and flavour; but in their 
haste they had omitted to ice it. Heaven and 
earth! What an oversight! He took some with 
Lady Lacy, perceived its deficiency, and blushed 
as he drank it. 

Meanwhile Lady Louisa, though the miseries of 
the table generally fall most severely on the mis- 
tress of the house, had been enjoying a state of 
great tranquillity. She left almost every thing to 
the direction of her husband: and little cared 
whether the arrangements of their menage looked 
well or ill in the eyes of her visiters. She fre- 
quently repeated to them, without any variation of 
words or tone, her regret that they had not come 
yesterday; but as she had not been put to the ex- 
tra trouble even of a thought by their unexpected 
arrival, she really cared very little about it. 

Agnes felt distressed, from the fear lest her fa- 
ther’s foible should be perceptible to Herbert, and 
thereby lower him in his opinion. Her fears were 
partly justified, for Herbert was too quick and ac- 
curate an observer not to have clearly understood 
the nature of Mr. Morton’s feelings; but as these 
were prompted chiefly by a wish to appear to ad- 
vantage in the eyes of him and his parents, and 
were therefore rather flattering, he did not judge 
them very severely. 

Matters gradually improved. The worst was 
past; and Mr. Morton’s apprehensions began to 
subside when dinner was over. The effect of in- 
creasing intimacy began to be felt in a more gene- 
ral diffusion of vivacity; and conversation was no 
longer almost confined, as it had been at first, to 


168 


HERBERT LACY. 


Herbert and Sackville. Sir William was not fond 
of sustaining any conversation, unless on subjects 
that particularly interested him, and generally con- 
fined himself to dropping occasional humorous re- 
marks. But these, though too often, like angels’ 
visits, few and far between,” had always an en- 
livening effect. Sackville had powers of entertain- 
ment which rendered him truly an acquisition, and 
these powers he had now exerted. 

When they reassembled in the drawing-room, 
all were, or seemed to be, happy. Of Herbert’s 
happiness there could be little doubt; for he soon 
found himself talking to Agnes rather apart from 
the rest, so as to be heard by her alone, recalling 
the few last delightful days of his visit at Huntley, 
all but declaring his attachment, and rejoicing to 
reflect that these half-admitted, half-uttered decla- 
rations, were made beneath her father’s roof, under 
his eye, and perhaps not entirely without his ap- 
probation. He was glad to perceive that Sir Wil- 
liam took frequent opportunities of talking to her, 
listened attentively to her observations, and seemed 
pleased with what she said. Mr. Morton’s eye was 
also seen to turn sometimes towards his daughter 
and Herbert; but its expression was perfectly be- 
nign, and neither of them shrunk from its scrutiny. 
The latter part of the evening amply compensated 
to Herbert for the mortifications of its commence- 
ment, and it was with no slight regret that he found 
himself obliged to take his leave. The parting, 
however, was very satisfactory. Lady Louisa gave 
him a gracious smile; Mr. Morton shook him very 
cordially by the hand, and Agnes allowed him to 
take hers: nor did she at all displease him by the 
conscious blush with which, fearful of observation, 
she withdrew it from his prolonged pressure. 

All the party went away well pleased with the> 
result of the visit. Sir William had collected ainr 
pie food for his love of the ludicrous in the event^ 


HERBERT LACY. 


169 


of the evening; and gave full vent, on his way 
home, to all the satirical pleasantries that had come 
across his fancy during the last five hours. “ I like 
this Morton,’’ said he: ‘Hhe man has some plea- 
sant absurdities in him. I don’t care if I take pot- 
luck with him again. He is like a land tortoise: 
if you want to see him to advantage you must take 
him unawares, before he can get his head into his 
shell. The animal’s mail stands him in the same 
stead that good breeding does Morton.” 

Lady Lacy was confirmed, by the observation of 
this evening, in her opinion that Mr. Morton was 
certainly a gentlemanly man; thought Lady Louisa 
an agreeable woman; remarked how handsomely 
they seemed to live, and shrewdly suspected that 
this was not their every-day style, and that, in fact, 
whatever they might say, they certainly had ex- 
pected them. 

Before they retired to rest. Sir William took an 
opportunity of conveying to his son privately, the 
result of his observations upon Agnes Morton. 

Herbert,” said he, ‘‘to set your mind at ease — I 
like her. I will say nothing of her looks. I could 
not make you think her handsomer by any thing 
that I could add, and if I did not admire her beau- 
ty you would only wonder at my want of taste. I 
cannot judge of her disposition. It may be good, 
or it may be bad, for all one knows after five hours’ 
acquaintance. Her manners, I think, are good; 
they are natural and elegant, and free from peculi- 
arity. I should think she was sensible. I did not 
hear her say a foolish thing, but all was right-mind- 
ed and well-expressed. She has a turn for plea- 
santry; that I like. I don’t want girls to be bril- 
liant themselves, but they ought to understand the 
brilliancies of others. It is a great thing to be able 
to laugh at the right time; and it is an art, let me 
tell you, which few possess. Miss Morton does - 
possess it; and thence I augur well of her capacity. 

VoL I. 15 m 


170 


HERBERT LACY. 


She seems to have read, and to like reading. That 
is another good thing. It saves women from tit- 
tle-tattle, and much ado about nothing. Then, 
she is observant and welkjudging. I thought she 
seemed distressed for her father, when she saw him 
fretting and fidgetting, because the fish was over- 
done, and his overgrown plateau had been set on 
in the hurry rather awry. 1 am sure she would be 
above such trifles. I think I have said enough to 
show you that I don’t disapprove of her; but still 
you must not be precipitate — I won’t have you 
throw yourself at her feet yet — let us grow better 
acquainted with the Mortons before our families 
are irrevocably united. I wish for prudence and 
circumspection, and you, Herbert, are one from 
whom I can look for obedience, even in such a case 
as this. And now, good night. Digest at your 
leisure all that I have said ab'Out Miss Morton; and 
if you have any grace, you will dream of her.” 

Whether Lacy fulfilled to the letter his father’s 
injunctions, has not been clearly ascertained: but 
never certainly had he retired to rest with a more 
triumphant sense of difficulties overcome, and a 
more full assurance of eventual and speedy success, 
than visited his mind that night. Armed with the 
approbation of both the fathers, fearing from the 
mothers no violent opposition, and satisfied of the 
unaltered state of the affections of Agnes, what ob- 
structions could lie apprehend ? The prospect was 
fair and flattering; and that benignant Providence 
which kindly withholds from us a knowledge of 
the future, allowed him still to revel in that sweet- 
est of mortal banquets — Hope. 


HERBERT LACY. 


171 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Conspiracies no sooner should be formed 
Than executed. 

♦ Addison... Ca^o. 

♦ 

Any observant person who had studied the looks 
and manner of Agnes and Lacy during the visit 
which has been above described, would have come 
to the conclusion that an attachment subsisted be- 
tween them. No wonder, then, that such fact 
should have been rendered as clear to the quick 
comprehension of Sackvilie as if it had been avow- 
ed to him by the parties themselves. He saw that 
they were attached; and saw it with surprise, dis- 
pleasure, and dismay. He saw it with surprise, 
because he knew that only a few weeks before they 
had been total strangers, strangers who had no de- 
sire to become acquainted, and whose impressions 
of each other were, if any thing, unfavourable. He 
saw it with displeasure, because it promised to in- 
terfere with a project which, of all others, he had 
most at heart — that of uniting himself with Agnes 
Morton. The motives which inclined him to this 
were various: but their result was a determination 
of the most firm and unalterable kind. He loved 
her as much as it was in his nature to love any one: 
he admired her beauty, and could appreciate the 
extent of her capacity, and the excellence of her 
disposition. By these she was strongly recom- 
3iiended to his choice: but perhaps not more strongly 


172 


HERBERT LACF. 


than by the circumstance of her inheriting a for- 
tune of eighty thousand pounds. 

Other causes also contributed to strengthen his 
resolution. Being nearly related to the husband 
of Miss Morton’s aunt, he had passed much of his 
time with them, and, after the death of Mr. Den- 
ham, obtained a strong influence over his widow, 
and became her counseller and assistant in the di- 
rection of her affairs. This influence he was too 
careful of public opinion to abuse to any very ob- 
vious extent; and he allowed her, after leaving her 
landed property and a handsome legacy to him, to 
bequeath the greater part of her fortune to Agnes, 
her adopted niece. But he did not do this with- 
out having his recompense in view. He was 
struck by the budding graces of the little girl; and 
trusting that she would be no less charming as she 
advanced to womanhood, internally resolved to 
remunerate himself for his present disinterested- 
ness, by making the young heiress at some future 
time his wife. For this purpose he contrived that 
her fortune should be placed in the hands of two 
trustees, himself, and a Mr. Hawkesworth, an el- 
derly man of great respectability, but whose timi- 
dity of* character put him completely under the 
control of Sackville. He also contrived that she 
should be debarred from marrying, under pain of 
forfeiture, before the age of twenty-four, without 
the consent of her trustees, and that meanwhile the 
greater part of her fortune, instead of being appro- 
priated to supporting the extravagance of her father, 
vshould be allowed to accumulate in their hands. 

Such were his plans for the attainment of an ob- 
ject which, having once determined to be desira- 
ble, he now, with that stern inflexibility of pur- 
pose which belonged to his character, steadily 
resolved to carry. Hitherto he had been slow and 
cautious in his operations, and had endeavoured to 


HERBERT LACY. 


173 


effect his object in attempting to awaken, by a 
course of the most unobtrusive and delicate atten- 
tions, some sentiment of attachment in the bosom 
of his young ward. In this, he now found that he 
had utterly failed, and all hopes from such a course 
must be at once abandoned. She was even attach- 
ed to another; to one whom her parents would ap- 
prove, who returned her love, who might even 
within a few hours declare his passion, and be ac- 
cepted. The case was urgent and admitted of no 



delay. 


But Sackville did not despair. He knew his re- 
sources, and was confident in his address. He 
knew that the blow he meditated, to be efiectual, 
must be speedy; and, before he closed his eyes, 
that very night he had devised a plan of operations 
which were to be carried into effect on the morrow. 
Next morning, soon after breakfast, he rode over to 
Lacy Park, where he passed a long time in lively 
conversation with Sir William, and that friend, 
whose happiness he was then plotting to destroy. 
The ostensible object of his visit was to show to 
Herbert a letter from a common friend of theirs, 
then abroad, in which he was mentioned. His real 
object was to ascertain whether he intended to call 
that day at Dodswell; and, if he did, to return with 
him, and to contrive, if possible, that he should 
have no opportunity of then making his proposal 
either to Agnes or to Mr. Morton. Happily for 
Sackville, Herbert was found to have no such in- 
tention; for he had been schooled into forbearance 
by the injunctions of his father, and was comforted 
with the reflection that, at all events, he should 
again meet Agnes at the Westcourt ball on the fol- 
lowing Wednesday. 

Satisfied on this point, Sackville* quitted the La- 
cys and returned to Dodswell shortly before dinner. 
At table he frankly detailed his proceedings, talked 
a good deal about the Lacys, and in a manner ra- 


15 "^ 


174 


HERBERT LACY. 


ther favourable to them, and spoke in terms of high 
regard for Herbert. 

I like him very much,’^ said he, in a tone of 
perfect' ease and sincerity; ‘‘and I think Miss 
Hartley is very fortunate in her prospects — if I 
may venture to say such a thing — for you know,” 
he added, turning with a smile to Agnes, “ in case 
of matrimony, the good fortune is always presumed 
to be on our side.” 

Agnes mechanically assented, scarcely knowing 
what she said: for this startling intelligence had 
been so suddenly and indirectly conveyed, that in- 
stead of showing any strong emotion, she sat ra- 
ther with an air of one who did not comprehend 
the meaning of what had been said. Sackville did 
not wish to embarrass her; and, therefore, directing 
ins conversation to Mr. Morton, who looked even 
more affected by the intelligence than his daughter, 
he asked him whether he had heard before that 
Lacy was to be married to Miss Hartley. Mr. 
Morton replied with a faint and unwilling “yes,” 
and striving to look indifferent, inquired whether 
Sackville believed the report. 

“ I think it is probable,” said he, quietly: “ they 
seem well suited, and have been thrown a good 
deal together. Lady Lacy first led me to suspect 
that such a thing was in view. Lacy himself, too, 
looked rather conscious when I talked to him once 
about Miss Hartley. In short, I have no doubt of 
it; and I am glad to think it will be so. You know 
Charles Hartley married the sister. There is some- 
thing comfortable in a double alliance; and it will 
be an excellent match for her.” 

“Will it be as well for him?” said Mr. IMorton. 

‘*‘ Why, yes — I should think it would. She has 
two great requisites, beauty and fortune; and is a 
pleasant, good humoured sort of girl. I suppose 
you know her?” turning to Agnes. 

Agnes could, by this time, reply with much ap- 


HERBERT LACY. 


175 


parent calmness, that she was but slightly acquaint- 
ed with Miss Hartley; when Sackville, again turn- 
ing from her, proceeded, in the same composed 
tone, to talk of Lacy’s expected marriage. “ I am 
glad,” said he, that my friend Lacy has done tri- 
fling with ladies’ hearts. He is thought to be un 
peu volage — I won’t say quite a male coquet — but 
perhaps a little too fond of being only too agree- 
able. I could name more than one instance where 
he has raised false expectations. I don’t suppose 
he meant to do so ; but however, with that unfortu- 
nate captivation of manner, an engagement is the 
luckiest thing in the world for him; for otherwise, 
one day or other, he will find himself called to ac- 
count, poor fellow, for jilting some love-lorn young 
lady whom he would fancy he had merely been 
treating with a little common civility.” 

No immediate reply was made to this observa- 
tion. Agnes, who was not called upon to speak, 
remained silent; and Mr. Morton wished to appear 
too much occupied in cutting up a pine to think or 
talk of any thing else. Lady Louisa, who was 
not usually prompt in reply, was now the first to 
speak. 

don’t know,” said she, ‘^whether I know 
Miss Hartley. Agnes, do I?” 

Agnes could not tell. 

I think I have seen her,” pursued Lady Louisa, 

Is not she dark?” 

‘‘ No — fair,” said Sackville. 

‘‘Fair? Oh! then I have not seen her: and so 
she is to be married to Mr. Lacy. Well! it is a 
very nice match. Was not this what Charles Eus- 
tace was talking about? No — it was Mr. Ducie’s 
marriage. Was it Mr. Ducie or Mr. Lacy that you 
pulled out of the water once?” 

Sackville told her. 

“ Oh, Mr. Lacy, was it? I always confound the 
names. Well, they are both very nice young men. 


176 


HERBERT LACY. 


Agnes, shall we go?’^ and the ladies rose and re- 
tired to the drawing room. 

There Agnes was visited by many an anxious 
thought which the preceding conversation had ex- 
cited. She now remembered to have heard, two 
months ago, some intimations of Lacy^s engage- 
ment to Miss Hartley, to which, being then unac- 
quainted with Lacy, she paid very little attention. 
She also remembered to have heard imputations of 
fickleness thrown out respecting him, which, how- 
ever slight, unpleasantly confirmed the representa- 
tions of Sackville. Circumstances all at* once ap- 
peared in a light in which her growing attachment 
had not hitherto permitted her to view them. It 
was, she confessed, but too possible that she had 
been construing his attentions more seriously than 
his real sentiments would warrant; and she now in- 
ternally reproached herself for the precipitate sur- 
render of her affections. A delightful vision which 
she had long indulged, was dispelled in an instant; 
and, though there was still much in her prospects 
to which a sanguine mind would cling with confi- 
dence, yet prudence warned her to guard her heart 
against the admission of hopes which might prove 
to be fallacious. 

We must now return to the dining room, where 
we left the gentlemen together. Sackville, when 
the ladies had retired, became absorbed in medita- 
tion. His manner attracted the attention of Mr. 
Morton, who looked at him with an air of inquiry, 
and would fain have asked tlie subject of his 
thoughts. In truth, Sackville only waited for such 
a question, but as it never came, he was at length 
compelled to break silence. 

We have been long acquainted,’’ said he, speak- 
ing with apparent effort, “and I trust you will be- 
lieve that it must be painful to me to make any com- 
munication which may give you uneasiness.” He 
stopped for a moment. Mr. Morton made no an- 


HERBERT LACY. 


177 


swer, and Sackville slowly proceeded. I have 
much to tell you which I scarcely know how to tell. 
Perhaps you will say, when you know all, that I 
hesitate from tenderness to my own feelings; but, 
in truth, it is rather from respect to yours: I can 
bear the avowal, or 1 should not undertake to make 
it. Excuse this weakness. When I come to the 
point, I am as irresolute as a child.’’ 

He paused, and drew his hand across his fore- 
head, while Mr. Morton regarded him with breath- 
less attention. 

It shall be told,” said Sackville, with a sudden 
effort. Mr. Morton, I am a distressed man.” 

A short silence followed this confession. Mr. 
Morton looked at him in mute astonishment, and 
seemed too much surprised to give utterance to any 
thing beyond a half articulate exclamation of doubt. 

Yes,” pursued Sackville, with a sigh; <‘itis 
too true. You wonder, and with reason; how I 
can have brought myself into such a situation. I 
am not an extravagant man, and I flattered myself, 
till lately, not an imprudent one. But my fortune 
is not large, and I have diminished it, partly by 
unsuccessful speculations; partly — no matter how. 
The long and the short is, that I am in debt. Al- 
len is my chief creditor; he presses for immediate 
payment; I have not the' means of satisfying him; 
and, in truth, I know not what to do.” 

Mr. Morton looked grieved and perplexed, and 
could only express his dismay and wonder in bro- 
ken sentences; then, lamented that it was out of 
his power to assist him; and at last, remarked, by 
way of consolation, that, as Sackville was in parlia- 
ment, his person, at all events, was safe. 

“ True,” replied Sackville; ‘‘but that is a scan- 
ty source of comfort. I may, it is true, escape a 
gaol; but can I escape the coolness, the scorn, with 
which the world invariably view a ruined man? 
Can I hold up iny, head again in the presence of 


178 


HERBERT LACY. 


those whom I used to regard as no more than my 
equals? No — no — I never could; I should lose my 
station; I should be shunned, scouted, and by those 
who used to court my acquaintance. Oh ! it is a 
dreadful situation, and must be concealed at all 
costs. 

True — too true,’^ replied Mr. Morton, with a 
sigh; ‘‘ and I assure you, my dear Sackville, that I 
feel for you deeply; I am afraid it will be idle for 
me to pretend to assist you; but, if I might take 
the liberty of old friendship, and ask to be made, 
in some degree, your confidant; if I might know 
how you are involved; excuse me if I take a li- 
berty.’’ 

‘‘I thank you a thousand times,” replied Sack- 
ville. ‘‘You have taken a load off my mind; I 
did not know whether I might dare to be explicit; 
but now I will tell you all; I shall hurt you by 
what I say; but I trust you will forgive it. May 
I go on?” said he, and fixed his penetrating eyes 
on those of Mr. Morton; who, turning pale with 
apprehension, replied in a trembling voice, “You 
may.” 

“ Then, Mr. Morton,” resumed Sackville, sink- 
ing his voice to an impressive whisper, “ it be- 
comes my painful duty to tell you, that I am fully 
acquainted with your embarrassments.” 

Mr. Morton started, turned alternately red and 
pale, and could only re-echo the words of Sackville, 
as if endeavouring to question their correctness. 

“ Yes,” pursued Sackville; “ I know that you 
are distressed as well as 1; do not be angry with 
me for saying so. This is no needless communi- 
cation. Be assured that I should never have utter- 
ed what must be so galling to the feelings of both 
of us, if the case were not urgent. Why I do it, 
remains to be told — and it is the hardest task of 
all. I am fully informed of the extent and nature 
of many of your debts — and that, within the last 


HERBERT LACY. 


179 


year, you have been twice on the brink of arrest. 
Yes, Mr. Morton, it is true; you have twice been 
nearer an arrest than you imagine; but that blow, 
thank God! has been warded off. A friend step- 
ped in, treated with your creditors, induced a few 
of them to be patient, and bought up your debts 
to a large amount, from those who were most ur- 
gent in their demands. He did this, as he then 
thought, with tolerable ease and safety to himself; 
with some sacrifice, it is true, but not more than he 
was willing to make for the sake of an old and va- 
lued friend. Since that time, circumstances have 
been changed; he has become involved himself, and 
the terrible alternative of his own ruin, or of a cruel 
exposure of your embarrassments, now stares him 
in the face. But he had rather the former should 
happen than that misfortune should fall on you and 
your excellent family. 

^‘1 see it all,” exclaimed Mr. Morton, with 
emotion. You are the man — and may God re- 
ward you — I cannot thank you as I ought.” 

Your thanks, my dear Sir, are more than suf- 
ficient,^’ replied Sackville, grasping his hand. 

But it is painful to dwell on these things; I will 
come quickly to particulars, and dismiss the sub- 
ject as soon as I can. Here,” producing a paper, 
^‘is a list of the bond debts in which I am now 
your creditor.” 

Mr. Morton received it in silence, and his coun- 
tenance fell as he perused it. ‘‘I am lost, I am 
lost,” he exclaimed, in a tone of desponding help- 
lessness. That I should be reduced to such a 
state! You say you are ruined unless I repay 
you?” 

Too certainly,” replied Sackville, mournfully. 

And that must never be allowed. Yet, as for 
paying, I could not command the hundredth part 
of the sum I owe you ; and then, as for exposure, I 
do not fear it on my own account — but my family ! 


180 


HERBERT LACY. 


Oh! to disgrace my family! Sackville, you are not 
a father — you cannot tell what I suffer.^’ 

He buried his face in his hands; and several se- 
conds were passed in silence, when suddenly start- 
ing up, he exclaimed. ^‘For the love of heaven, 
tell me what I am to do!’’ 

Sackville looked down and his countenance as- 
sumed an air of agitation. Something seemed to 
ruffle his composure in an unusual degree, and a 
secret was evidently struggling in his bosom, which 
he almost wanted the power to disclose. 

‘‘This is terrible,” said he, &loud, but as if uncon- 
scious of being heard; “ it is not the time, but I am 
compelled!” Then turning to Mr. Morton, “You 
cannot conceive the pain with which I now speak 
to you. I have to express feelings which I have 
long intended to declare. I wish I had done so 
sooner, for I should then have been spared the pain 
of avowing them at so unseasonable a time. I feel 
that it is profanation to utter them now, but neces- 
sity compels.” 

He paused, and Mr. Morton looked anxiously 
in his face, but made no observation. Sackville 
laid his hand upon hjs arm, and in a subdued tone 
proceeded. “ L am going to tell you, what you 
have probably long suspected. Nobody who has 
had the advantage of the intimate acquaintance with 
your daughter Agnes which I have enjoy ed> could 
fail to have been struck with her many delightful 
qualities; and having observed them, could feel 
other than attachment. To become her husband 
has long been the fondest object of my ambition; 
and I feel it to be no slight additional recommenda- 
tion, that in being united to so much excellence, I 
should be binding myself still closer to a family, 
for all of whom I entertain so sincere a regard. ” 

Mr. Morton looked surprised, and embarrassed, 
nor did his looks belie his feelings, for this decla- 
ration was quite unexpected, and very unwelcome. 
Being assured by Lacy’s manner that he felt a 


HERBERT LACY. 


181 


strong admiration for Agnes, he had begun to cal- 
culate upon the possibility and desirableness of an 
alliance in that quarter; and seeing that Lacy’s at- 
tentions were received with pleasure by his daugh- 
ter, he feared that she would not be easily brought 
to admit the addresses of any other person. These 
considerations caused him to ponder, and to receive 
Sackville’s avowal with apparent coldness. 

“ I am very sensible,” said he at length, with a 
feeble hesitating voice, of the honour you do my 
daughter. It must be gratifying to a father to 
think, that her merits should be so favourably es- 
timated by one of your excellent judgment. She 
has been a treasure to me, and will be doubly so to 
the man who is so fortunate as to win her affections. 
If you are that person, I sincerely congratulate 
you.” 

‘‘ And I receive your congratulations most grate- 
fully,” replied Sackville. I feel perfectly as- 
sured of the state of her affections, and upon that 
assurance, I now apply for your sanction. Do not, 
if you respect my feelings, express any further 
doubt upon a subject so interesting to me, and on 
which I, the person most concerned, am perfectly 
satisfied.” 

Mr. Morton checked a sigh, and sat vainly la- 
bouring to frame an answer which should convey 
a grateful sense of Sackville’s kindness, without 
committing himself by a positive acceptance of his 
proposal. Before he could give it utterance, Sack- 
ville had proceeded. 

I see that you are surprised at the time and 
manner of my application, and I do not wonder at 
it. It is most unseasonable and abrupt, and re- 
quires some explanation. It hurts me very much 
to seem so deficient in delicacy and respect; but 
you will pity me when you know all, and I hope 
forgive me. Mr. Morton, a report has gone 
abroad, I know not how, that I am eng^ed to 

VoL I. 16 


182 


HERBERT LACY. 


Miss Morton. My chief creditor, I will name hinr, 
Allen, has taxed me with it. I denied the engage- 
ment. He then persisted that I had at least an in- 
tention of offering myself. I could not deny it, 
and would return him no answer. A week ago, 
he sent me this letter, pressing for a settlement of 
our accounts, and alluding very broadly to my 
eventual ability to satisfy all his demands in case of 
a certain event I took an opportunity of calling 
to remonstrate with him this morning, and to pray 
for further time. I found him inflexible, but upon 
one condition. You do not know how it hurts me 
to mention it — to mmher name with this rascaPsdir- 
ty traffickings. But I am the slave of circumstances, 
and must not give way to refinement. To be brief, 
he promises to let my debt stand over for two years 
more on condition of my producing a written pa- 
per signed by you, acknowledging me as your fu- 
ture son-in-law. He will then suspend his claims 
upon me, and I shall not be driven by necessity to 
subject you to inconvenience. These, my dear Sir, 
are the humiliating circumstances, under which, lap- 
pear before you as the suitor of your daughter, and 
beg for a privilege, which I should consider cheap 
at any price, but that of honour. My feelings to- 
wards her, are only those of the purest and most 
disinterested attachment; and it is galling to me to 
have them first declared to you in a way that may 
subject them to suspicion. I have, however, one 
consolation beyond my hopes. I shall be enabled, 
if you accept my prayer, to relieve you from seri- 
ous difficulties; and, believe me, this will be a cir- 
cumstance which I shall remember with satisfac- 
tion to the latest moments of my life.’^ 

It was with mingled emotions of gratitude and 
fear, that Mr. Morton listened to this appeal. He 
was unwilling to urge what might entail the sacri- 
fice of his daughter’s happiness; he was grateful to 
Sackville; he saw the strength of his claims; and 


HERBERT LACY. 


183 


he read a something in his eye, which told him how 
dreadful might be the consequences, if, by a refu- 
sal, he should convert that friend into an enemy; 
and how easily might he be precipitated, through 
his means, from that station,. the loss of which he 
felt as if he could scarcely survive. He therefore 
turned to Sackville with an acquiescent smile; told 
him that he was happy in the prospect of their near- 
er relationship, and grasped the hand that was 
promptly extended, in ratification of their contract. 
This done, Sackville, without allowing him to re- 
cede, but instantly assuming the affair to be settled, 
poured forth his thanks and professions, vowing 
eternal love to Agnes, and the most unbounded re- 
gard and deference towards his chosen father. 

‘‘ And now, my dear Sir,’’ said he, still pursu- 
ing the same studied air of respect, after you 
have kindly conceded so much to my wishes, I am 
emboldened to make another request. I have said 
nothing to your daughter upon this subject; I wish 
the first intimation of my intentions to come from 
you. May I beg that you will take an early op- 
portunity of speaking to her? Excuse my pressing 
for an early communication. Lovers, you know, 
are proverbially impatient. See her and prepare 
her. I know that I shall find in you an able advo- 
cate, and that, whatever points appear in my favour, 
will be set before her in a convincing light. A 
young mind like hers, however well disposed to- 
wards the suitor, is apt to look at first with some 
alarm to the prospect of matrimony: but I rely upon 
your skill and judgment. Pray put me soon out 
of suspense. I am impatient to receive her answer. 
Much will depend upon it. ” 

These few last words were uttered with a pecu- 
liar inflexion of tone, which distinctly painted to 
Mr. Morton the terrible alternative which might at- 
tend the failure of his errand. They precluded all 
refusal, and Mr. Morton, though little confident of 


184 


HERBERT LACr. 


his daughter’s favourable reception of the proposal, 
summoning into his countenance a feeble effort at 
cheerful acquiescence, withoutpne audible murmur 
complied with all that Sackville asked. 

Here this important conference ended, and the 
gentlemen adjourned, to join the ladies in the sa- 
loon. 


HERBERT LACr, 


185 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Force tannot be the school of love. 

Sir Philip Sidsev. 

Marriage is a matter of more worth 

'I'han to be dealt in by attorneyship. 

HEXRY VL Part 2. 

On the following morning, Agnes, by her father’s 
desire, repaired to his private sitting-room. He 
looked pale and dejected, for he knew that his fate 
depended on his daughter’s compliance, which 
would not be obtained without a struggle, and the 
probable sacrifice of her happiness. He endea- 
voured to gain time and courage by speaking first 
on irrelevant subjects, and brought round the con- 
versation as naturally as he could to Sackville. 

How fortunate we are,” said he, ‘^in having 
so able and intelligent a friend; so kind and atten- 
tive to your interests — to the interests, indeed, of 
all of us — but of you in particular.” 

Agnes partly acquiesced. 

‘‘And then,” pursued Mr. Morton, he is so su- 
perior, so well informed, so sensible, and of such 
agreeable manners, and so much quickness and ad- 
dress.” 

“ And presence of mind,” said Agnes, who was 
thinking at that moment of his great claims upon her 
gratitude for having saved the life of Lacy. 

“Yes, my love,” continued her father, “he is a 
very excellent person, and the woman whom he 
distinguishes, may be justly proud of his attach- 
ment.” 


16 ^ 


18G 


HERBERT LACY. 


‘‘Certainly,” replied Agnes, “for he does not 
strike me as being one who would easily become 
attached to any woman.” 

“Right — quite right — just as I think of him. His 
affections would never be given in opposition to his 
better judgment; and, therefore, the woman by 
whom he is won, may consider herself as receiving 
a very high and sincere compliment.” 

“Certainly — a high compliment — and, of course, 
the most sincere that he could pay.” 

“I am glad to hear you say so,” replied Mr. 
Morton, gaining courage from her words, “ because 
I know the person to wliom he does pay this sin- 
cerest of all compliments; and I am happy to think 
that my dear daughter should be her of whom he 
has so high and so just an opinion. To keep you 
no longer in suspense, my love, Sackville has de- 
clared his attachment to you. He says, that he 
has long admired and loved you, and that his hap- 
piness depends entirely upon your acceptance of 
him.” 

The countenance of Agnes fell, and she turned 
extremely pale. The tidings were very unaccept- 
able; and she saw at once, that be her answer what 
it might, it could not fail to be attended with un- 
pleasant consequences. She must either resign 
Lacy, or alienate a valuable friend. But she felt 
no difficulty in forming her determination; and as 
there was no doubt in the case, she was enabled to 
reply with tolerable firmness. 

“ I cannot contradict what I have said,” she re- 
plied: “I think any one may be proud of the at- 
tachment of Mr. Sackville; and I am sensible of 
the honour he has done me. It is much greater 
than I am conscious of deserving, and I cannot 
help wishing, that his attachment had been bestowed 
where it could have been returned, for it can never 
be returned by me. I can admire Mr. Sackville’s 
abilities — I can ackno.wledge his powers of pleasing 


HERBERT LACY. 


187 


— I can regard him as a valuable friend, but I can- 
not feel for him any affection. I may be wrong in 
being so insensible to such great merits, but these 
are my real sentiments, and I would not deceive 
you by saying otherwise.^’ 

^^Take care, Agnes, replied her father, ‘Mest, 
in the meanwhile, you deceive yourself. Do not 
let any youthful timidity cause you to return a hasty 
refusd, of which you may afterwards repent. You 
speak very modestly, and I think too modestly of 
the honour he does you, and of your own unworth- 
iness. Do not be led away by this feeling; it is an 
amiable one — but it may be carried to excess. You 
spoke of Sackville’s great superiority, as if it were 
a bar to your attachment. I am aware that a feel- 
ing of case and equality is, in some degree, neces- 
sary to love; but here, I think, you judge hastily. 
Increased intimacy, and a change in your relative 
situations, will correct that sentiment of deference 
which he now seems to inspire. Besides, owing 
to the charge which your aunt committed to him, 
you have been accustomed to regard him as a sort 
of second father— but you must get rid of that im- 
pression. Sackville is still a young man — young 
not only in years, but in appearance and in habits 
— good looking, and full of vivacity. As for any 
attachment which you can have formed elsewhere,” 
pursued Mr. Morton, speaking with greater dif- 
iiculty, for he was not hypocrite enough to utter 
with confidence what he believed to be false, ‘‘on 
that point I feel perfectly easy. You have never 
received any declaration of attachment, except 
from Lord Midhurst, if I mistake not — have you?” 
said he, looking inquiringly at his daughter. 

Agnes faintly answered “No.” 

“ So I thought; and I have too much confidence 
in your sense and steadiness of principle, to believe 
that you would hastily resign your affections to any 
one, especially if he had never explicitly declared 


ISS 


HERBERT LACY. 


himself; and I am sure, my dear daughter, you are 
not one of those weak girls who are apt to construe 
little foolish attentions into more than was ever 
meant by them.’^ 

Agnes sighed. She felt that she was in no 
slight danger of falling into the error which her 
father denounced ; and that if Lacy were, indeed, 
the fickle person that he was represented to be, his 
attentions might have had very little serious mean- 
ing. But, if such were the case, how could she 
avow what she had begun to feel for him? To a 
female mind of delicacy, even under circumstances 
of encouragement, it must be difficult and embar- 
rassing to acknowledge an attachment which is 
even avowedly returned. But to confess a passion 
unsupported by any proof that the attentions of the 
lover were otherwise than frivolous; to do this, 
after hearing such conduct denounced as improper 
by the voice of a parent, was more than Agnes 
had courage to undertake. Had she* so dared, great 
as was the emergency, she might have been rea- 
sonably accused of having been wanting in self- 
respect, and in that sensitive and retiring modesty 
which is ever woman’s brightest ornament. 

I am sorry,” said Agnes, looking up timidly in 
her father’s face, ‘‘I am sorry to find, that in re- 
fusing Mr. Sackville I must oppose your wishes. 
But I trust — if I may judge from your uniform 
kindness — I trust you have too great a regard for 
my happiness to wish to urge me to sacrifice it — 
and indeed — indeed I should sacrifice it entirely, if 
I were to do what you require of me. It is a se- 
rious thing to be united for life to one for whom 
one can feel no love — it would be misery without 
hope. I know no punishment more cruel than the 
lingering wretchedness of such a situation. I know 
you love your children — you have often said so, 
and your kindness has shown it — and if so, I am 
sure, my dear father, that you can never wish to 


HERBERT LACY. 


189 


force me into a marriage which can end only in 
unhappiness.’’ 

Certainly not, my dear Agnes, I can never 
ivish to do that. But why must this marriage 
end in unhappiness. Is there any so great a hard- 
ship in accepting one, whom you confess to have 
many superior qualities; whom you have known 
so long and so ‘well; and whose affection for you, 
no person can doubt?” Agnes answered only 
with a look of supplication. There are other 
reasons,” pursued Mr. Morton, reasons still 
more weighty, which I have not yet told you. 
You do not know half the merits, half the claims 
of the man you are refusing. He has placed your 
father under obligations which I can never repay; 
he has behaved in the most noble and generous 
manner. Not only I, but all of you, owe him at 
this moment that which, if known to you, would 
make you fall at his feet in gratitude. Surely you 
cannot now refuse him?” 

Agnes, who had sat during this communication 
with her head resting pensively on her hand, look- 
ed up once more in her father’s face. I am in- 
deed grateful to Mr. Sackville,” said she, and 
wish I might be allowed to show that gratitude in 
some other better way. It would be a poor return 
for his kindnesses, (what tliey are I do not know, 
but you tell me they are great,) to give him a hand 
without the heart that should accompany it — how 
could I reward him so? How could I adequately ful- 
fil the duties of a wife, if I could not return his af- 
fection? Oh, my dear father, do not urge me to 
that which would produce the misery of both. If 
you have any love for me, you will never persist 
in so cruel a request.” 

Mr. Morton started from his chair, and walked 
hastily across the room. God help me!” he 
murmured, in broken accents. “To what am I 
reduced! — but the blow must fall — I had better 


190 


HERBERT LACY. 


come to the point at once. Agnes, my dear child, 
said he, returning to her, and taking her hand be- 
tween his own. ‘‘ I do love you as tenderly as a 
father ever did — You do not know what I suffer; 
but I cannot retract — I must urge you, harsh as it 
may seem. It is for your sake, for all our sakes, 
that I do it — Agnes, Sackville,*77zw5/, be accept- 
ed. Refuse him, and I am a lost man. Oh! you 
are ill! I have been too abrupt; but I will say no 
more.^’ 

No, no, I am better: tell me all,” and the flush 
of agitation gave once more a faint hue to her 
cheek, which but an instant before had been pale 
as death. Mr. Morton’s agitation was scarcely 
less. ^^No,” he exclaimed; I cannot tell you: 
but there is a necessity, a terrible necessity, for 
your compliance. Agnes, it is in your power to 
ruin or to save your father.” 

‘‘Oh, tell me how. If it is a debt within the 
reach of my fortune ” 

“My dear child,” interrupted Mr. Morton, co- 
louring with shame and agitation, “it is useless to 
talk to me of pecuniary assistance. Supposing, for 
argument’s sake, that my distress were of that na- 
ture, still you must remember that you are not at 
liberty to relieve it. Your fortune is under the 
control of your trustees, and, however willing 
Sackville may be to assist me, yet I have reason 
to know that Mr. Hawksworth is on that point 
impracticable. No, Agnes, hear me assure you, 
which I do in the most solemn manner, that there 
remains no means of securing your family from 
their present dreadful situation, but by your ac- 
ceptance of Sackville’s offer. Why should you 
show this great repugnance? Surely he has quali- 
ties which point him out as a valuable guide through 
life; and your lot with him would certainly be re? 
spectable, and I trust a happy one.” 

Agnes mournfully shook her head. 


HERBERT LACY. 


191 


Nay, my dear daughter,” said her father, ‘Het 
me have the comfort of hoping so. We are in dif- 
ficulties, and must make the best of them. Would 
to God I could have left you to your own free choice. 
But it cannot be. Your lot may seem a hard one, 
but it will be far better than mine. You will have 
the consolation, and it must be truly great to a dis- 
position like yours, to know that you have saved 
your parents from pain and sorrow.” 

Shame!” exclaimed Agnes. 

‘‘Ay, child, misfortune is shame in the eye of 
society — and that I, who have held my head so 
high — that I, should — oh, it would drive me mad. 
Agnes! Agnes! if you have ever felt compassion, 
save me from that which would be worse than 
death. I entreat, I implore you — yes, even on my 
knees;” and he fell at her feet, and grasped her 
cold trembling hands, with all the energy of de- 
spair. “Look at me, my child, ay, look at me, 
and then judge of what I feel. Think, that by one 
single word, you can raise me from this abyss of 
misery. Think, that not I alone, but all of us are 
to be doomed or saved, by your decision — that un- 
less you relent, the mother that bore you, may be 
forced to languish out the remainder of her days 
in obscurity and sorrow, and that you will see a 
father, who has ever loved you as his life, made 
for your sake, a by- word, and driven from the 
dwelling of his parents, houseless, and pennyless, 
into a wide unfeeling world.” 

Agnes almost fainting with agitation, was over- 
come by an appeal made with such earnestness, and 
so calculated to wring almost to agony, her natu- 
rally acute and tender feelings. Bewildered with 
the shock of her novel situation, and half insensi- 
ble with grief, she bowed her head towards her fa- 
ther, who was still kneeling by her side, and in a 
feeble voice uttered the words, “I will consent.” 
He made no reply, but clasped her in gratitude to 


192 


HERBERT LACY. 


his bosom. Her tears until this moment, had been 
repressed by the workings of astonishment and 
terror. But a tenderer emotion now gave them 
vent, and she wept upon her father’s shoulder. 
Terrible and afflicting as was the decision she had 
made, she felt relieved by having made it, and even 
experienced a temporary glow of pleasure and sa- 
tisfaction, from the reflection, that by this sacrifice 
of her own happiness, she had soothed the suffer- 
ings of an imploring parent. 

Neither spoke for some time, for tears had also 
choked his utterance. When at length they did 
speak, it was at first in indistinct and broken sen- 
tences, expressive of his gratitude, and her resig- 
nation. They soon grew calmer, and could talk 
in a composed and steady tone, of those arrange- 
ments which had so severely agitated them; and 
Agnes, with a firmness at which she was herself 
surprised, could again express her willingness to 
accept the proposals of Sackville. She only en- 
treated that time might be allowed her, that their 
union might be deferred, if possible, for a year, 
and that her father would make with Sackville, on 
that point, as favourable terms as he could. 


HERBERT LACY. 


193 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Oh, hard it is that fondness to sustain, 

And struggle not to feel averse in vain; 
liut harder still the heart’s recoil to bear. 

And liide from one, perhaps another there. 

Brnoy, 

Mr. Morton, after taking a grateful and affec- 
tionate leave of his daughter, and promising to 
strive in every thing to consult her happiness, and 
urge a delay as strongly as he durst, went to com- 
municate the intelligence to Sackville. Without 
preface or circumlocution, he entered at once into 
the subject, and told his errand in few words. 

She consents,’^ said he, but upon condi- 
tions.’^ 

Sackville took no notice of the latter words, but 
grasping his hand, expressed, in warm and well- 
chosen terms, the happiness which he received 
from such an answer. Mr. Morton, encouraged by 
his manner, and stimulated by the feelings of a fa- 
ther, eager to secure, in some degree, the happi- 
ness of a daughter who had sacrificed so much for 
his sake, again repeated, in a firm tone, that his 
daughter’s acquiescence was merely conditional. 
Sackville bowed with a smile of conscious security, 
and stood silently expecting the communication of 
the stipulated conditions. 

Mr. Morton then told them, and Sackville was 
relieved, by hearing that they contained only a re- 
quest for postponement, from which, as decay of 
affection was no consideration with him, he appre- 

VoL. I. 17 


194 


HERBERT LACY. 


bended little danger. He even thought that time 
might have a beneficial effect, and that Agnes might 
become less averse to the marriage, and might view 
it at length as a thing of course, after having been 
long accustomed to his addresses. Therefore, find- 
ing Mr. Morton very urgent upon the minor arti- 
cle of time, he, after a proper show of resistance, 
and profession of impatience for the happy event, 
consented that the ceremony should be deferred 
till the June of the ensuing year. He required, 
however, that the marriage should take place be- 
tween that month and September, at latest; and the 
consequences of an infringement of this agreement, 
though not expressed, were sufficiently implied to 
render them very imperative. He had no wish 
that their engagement should remain a secret; he 
had rather, if Agnes approved, that it should be 
immediately made known. The consent of Mr. 
Hawksworth, he had no doubt, could easily be ob- 
tained, and the long time which would intervene 
between the announcement of the marriage and its 
celebration, could always be satisfactorily explain- 
ed to the world, on the ground of legal delays. 
Meanwhile, it was not his wish that Agnes should 
go less into society than before, or that her engage- 
ment with him should produce any change in her 
habits. She was still very young, and he thought 
it would be unreasonable to seclude her from those 
scenes of gaiety which she was so calculated to 
adorn. After many liberal sentiments of this kind, 
expressed in the most winning manner, he re- 
quested an interview with Agnes; but declared 
that however eager to see her, yet, as his wishes 
should always bend to hers, he would await her 
leisure, and not press for an immediate interview 
while her spirits were yet agitated by the recent 
announcement. 

Mr. Morton then quitted him, to report to his 
daughter what had passed. He informed her of 


HERBERT LACY. 


195 


Sackville’s wish to see her, and his willingness to 
await her leisure, and repeated as nearly as he 
could, the well-chosen terms, in which the message 
was couched. Agnes smiled mournfully at the de- 
ceitful profession of subservience to her will, yet 
could not but feel obliged- by the delicacy of his 
attention. 

I can have no objection,” said she, to re- 
ceive Mr. Sackville as soon as he may choose to 
see me. I hope I am equal to the effort — I should 
gain no additional courage by delay, and therefore 
wish that our first meeting should be over.” 

Since such is your wish,” said Mr. Morton, 

I will go immediately and bring him: but first, 
let me earnestly entreat you, on no earthly consi- 
deration, to endeavour, in your conference with 
him, to retract that promise which 3mu have made: 
consider yourself irrevocably bound to him, and 
remember that the fate of your parents depends 
upon your compliance.” 

Agnes promised strict obedience; and Mr. Mor- 
ton repaired once more in quest of his intended 
son-in-law, leaving Agnes in a painful state of sus- 
pense, and listening with a beating heart, for the 
awful sound of approaching footsteps. Minutes, 
which seemed hours to her apprehension, had 
slowly elapsed, when at length the door was gently 
opened, and Sackville entered the room. Agnes 
could not look at him — but turned aw^ay her head, 
and directed her eyes she knew not where, for she 
saw nothing. It was a dreadful moment — her 
heart beat quicker than before — respiration almost 
failed — sight and hearing grew imperfect — all sense 
of external objects seemed to be leaving her, and 
she thought her^lf on the point of fainting. She 
was hardly conscious of his presence, till she per- 
ceived that somebody was seated near her, that the 
hand which hung cold and motionless by her side. 


19G 


HERBERT LACr. 


was gently taken, and that a voice was expressing 
in its softest accents — she knew not what: but she 
was alive to the necessity of rousing herself to a 
consciousness of what he said; and the effort was 
soon made. 

It was long before she had any other task than 
that of listening; for Sackville, who saw her agita- 
tion, and wished to give her time to recover; with- 
out pressing for any confirmation of that consent 
which he assumed to be irrevocably granted, pour- 
ed forth, with an eloquence which, under other 
circumstances, would have been irresistible, all 
that the most devoted attachment could prompt to 
the most disinterested of suitors. So amiable, so 
submissive did he seem, so utterly dependent on 
her will, that Agnes, while she listened, was al- 
most deceived into a temporary belief of her pow- 
er over him, and meditated, for an instant, to throw 
herself upon his compassion, avow that her affec- 
tions were placed elsewhere, and deprecate the im- 
pending punishment which it was in his power to 
inflict upon her father. 

But she had been long and intimately acquaint- 
ed with Sackville, and knew too well with whom 
she had to deal; and the rising reflection on the 
probable uselessness of sucli an appeal, together with 
the remembrance of her father’s injunction, dis- 
pelled the transitory hope. 

Sackville adverted with delicacy and judgment 
to her wish that their nuptials should be deferred; 
and without seeming to regard such a wish as any 
proof of the weakness of her affection for him, re- 
marked how natural it was that a very young per- 
son should look forward with some alarm to the 
prospect of quitting the home *of her parents. 
‘‘But in this case, my dear Agnes,” said he, “ I 
hope these evils will be lightened to a greater de- 
gree than they are in the case of the generality of 


HERBERT LACY. 


197 


young brides. You have had the advantage of 
knowing me well before you have committed your 
happiness to my care; and intimacy, and the situa- 
tion which I have held, have already given me, in 
some degree, the rights of a protector. You will 
also be removed to no strange house; but one to 
which I am sure you are much attached, where 
you passed so many happy years under the care of 
my excellent friend, your dear aunt, by whose 
kindness it is now mine.^’ 

He then proceeded with much feeling to strike 
the tender chord which these associations were like- 
ly to affect; and artfully connecting himself with 
the scenes of her childhood, and the memory of 
her benefactress, he soon succeeded, through the 
medium of her early affections, in awakening a 
more tender regard towards himself than she would 
previously have allowed to be possible. Her mind 
was agitated with various emotions; affectionate 
regret for her departed aunt, and vivid recollec- 
tions of early pleasures; then appeared Sackville 
in numerous contrasted lights — the former friend 
of a dear relation — the menacer of a father’s hap- 
piness — once her firm and valued adviser, to whom 
in default of parental aid, she would have looked 
for support — now her suiter, by compulsion, ruin- 
ing with remorseless selfishness all her best hopes 
of earthly happiness: but feeling acutely as she did 
the extent of the injury which Sackville had in- 
flicted, and viewing his conduct in its full enor- 
mity, she could not avoid being soothed by his 
manner, and confessed to herself that the evils of 
her situation were really lessened by the amiable 
and seductive colouring which his flattering tongue 
could lend to every circumstance of their intend- 
ed union. She knew not how to make an ungra- 
cious reply to an address so fraught with every 
tiling that could disarm displeasure, and timidly 


198 


HERBERT LACY. 


said, that she was willing to conform to his direc- 
tions. 

I must quarrel with any thing,’’ said Sack- 
ville, with one of his most engaging smiles, it 
shall be with the obedient tone of that answer. It 
was rather like an address to a guardian. How- 
ever, if you wish me once more to be somewhat 
authoritative before I lay down my office, I will 
exercise a little gentle tyranny upon you, and re- 
quest that you will partake of society as freely as 
if we were not engaged, and that you will not al- 
low me to be any restraint upon your actions. No: 
I will not be thanked by you — it is the world at 
large that is my debtor — and they, indeed, have 
need to thank me for not depriving them of you, 
who are so great an ornament and acquisition 
wherever you appear. To come to particulars — 
I hope I may accompany you to the Rodborough’s 
ball on Wednesday. It will give me pleasure to 
see you go into society the same as before: I love 
to have you seen and admired, and to be myself 
the witness of itj and that is a pleasure which I 
hope you are too kind to deny me.” 

Agnes professed, with truth, to feel very little 
inclination for society, and under present circum- 
stances would willingly have declined the ball at 
Westcourt; but as he seemed to wish that she 
should not forego it, she had no other course than 
to comply. His object in pressing this point was 
twofold: first, to render his engagement generally 
known and acknowledged; and secondly, to give 
to his own conduct an air of liberality, and to avoid 
the appearance of timidity and concealment. 

- After the previous discussion, Sackville, wishing 
to wean her mind from all harassing thoughts, led 
her insensibly into cheerful conversation upon sub- 
jects less immediately connected with their union. 
Her confidence and tranquillity were gradually re- 
stored; and this interview? the purport of which 


HERBERT LACY. 


199 


was so cruelly afflicting, and which, at its com- 
mencement, had been attended with such a painful 
excess of agitation, ended at length with a compo- 
sure on the part of Agnes, which, when she re- 
tired to muse over the past in solitude, she felt to 
be almost unaccountable. 


200 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XX. 


I like not fair terms and a villain’s mind. 

Merchant of Venice. 

We must now return to fill up a slight chasm in 
the history of the proceedings of Sackville, and re- 
late what passed between the time of his quitting 
Lacy Park on the preceding day, and his appear- 
an/ie at the dinner-table at Dodswell. 

After quitting the Lacys, he proceeded to a small 
neighbouring town, and stopped at a house situated 
in the outskirts, at which resided the person al- 
ready introduced to our readers, by the name of 
Richard Allen. This person was one whom it was 
difficult to designate very briefly. He called him- 
self a land surveyor, in addition to which, and the 
occasional occupation of a valuer of tithes, he was 
agent to one or two estates, acted sometimes as an 
auctioneer, farmed, speculated in building, and 
made money in more ways than his neighbours 
were generally acquainted with. He had begun 
life inauspiciously, as clerk in a bank which failed. 
He afterwards obtained the more lucrative situation 
of justice’s clerk, in a populous district, where, in 
the course of a dozen years, he picked up some law 
and a good deal of money. He was supposed to be 
in good circumstances, and, as his wealth had flow- 
ed from various sources, nobody knew exactly how, 
was generally pronounced to be “ a bit of a rogue.” 

On this point, nobody was much mistaken; and 
if the world erred, it was only with respect to the 


HERBERT LACY. 


201 


quant 11771 of his knavery, which was rated, except 
by one person, very much below the truth. No- 
body, however, wished to think more severely of 
him than was necessary, for he was a useful person, 
and had a civil, cheerful, popular manner, which 
equally recommended him to high and low; and 
however his neighbours might mentally consign 
him to eventual perdition, they would, at the 'Same 
time, internally confess that they could ‘‘ better 
spare a better man.” 

Allen had not the sullen scowl, or designing 
sneer of your open villains, who carry a caution in 
their faces to counteract their schemes. He was a 
little, busy, brisk, obliging man; all gaiety, civili- 
ty, and seeming candour, who had his ready laugh 
and joke for every one, who was the frequent re- 
feree in petty disputes, the boon companion of the 
neighbouring farmers, the leading wag in their con- 
vivial meetings, and who could sing a comic song 
at a benefit club feast, better than any man in the 
Hundred. 

It was at the door of this person that Sackville 
alighted, on the day above-mentioned, and was 
ushered, by the bowing, smiling master of the man- 
sion, into a small back-room, furnished with a 
clerk’s desk, various dusty lackered boxes, deeds, 
plans, and advertisements of sales. There was a 
good deal of eager attention on the part of Allen, 
through which an observant eye might perhaps 
have detected some indications of secret uneasiness. 
— am quite glad you are come, Mr. Sackville,” 
said he, bustling meanwhile about the room, and 
putting things out of his visiter’s way, for I knew 
you would be wanting to see me — and I was think- 
ing of going over to you — and I have made out the 
valuation — and ” 

Very good,” interrupted Sackville — ‘‘I will 
look at that some other time — I am come to speak 
to you upon other business now.’’ 


202 


HERBERT LACY. 


Allen bowed and looked grave: there was some- 
thing in Sackville’s tone that jarred unpleasantly on 
his ear; and he began to be officiously active in 
taking charge of his hat and whip, and apologizing 
for the disordered state of the apartment. 

Are we secure from being overheard.^” said 
Sackville. ‘‘I ask for your sake as well as^mine.’’ 

Allen assured him that they were. 

Very well,” pursued the former, then now 
to business. Have you got me the list of Mr. Mor- 
ton’s debts?” 

I have, Sir,” said Allen, and gave him a paper. 

Are these all?” 

All, I believe, Sir. We have not been able 
to discover any other bond debts; and the mort- 
gages specified over the leaf, comprise all the land- 
ed property that he is known to have. I myself, 
am creditor for all the sums lent on bond that are 
marked with red ink, and am mortgagee of the 
Draycot Magna, and Shawley farms, and also the 
Dodswell domain.” 

You have not allowed my name to appear?” 

^‘No, Sir, no — I have kept all close — I believe 
you will find that I have done every thing quite 
correct according to your directions.” 

am satisfied,” said Sackville: ‘^you have ac- 
quitted yourself extremely well; and now I have 
otlier plans in which I shall look for your assist- 
ance.” 

You may command me, Sir,” said Allen. 

Yes,” replied Sackville, in a peculiar tone, 
know I may — I will now tell you shortly what I 
want you to do — I wish Mr. Morton to be made to 
understand that I am his principal creditor, having 
made myself such, in order to save him from being 
pressed by you, when you were much in want of 
money yourself; and that I accordingly received 
from you an assignment of some of his bond debts 
and mortgages, on giving you my own bond to their 


HERBERT LACY. 


203 


full amount; that delicacy prevented my mention- 
ing the circumstance to Mr. Morton at the time; 
and that my own unforeseen and pressing embar- 
rassments alone, could now have forced me to dis- 
close it. Do you understand?” 

‘‘Completely, Sir: though I don’t know what 
your reasons are.” 

“ Never mind them,” pursued Sackville, with a 
smile. “ Now hear the steps which I wish you to 
take. In the first place, you must make a regular 
assignment to me of Mr. Morton’s bonds to you, 
and also of the mortgages, for which I will give 
you my own bond, which, as you know, is perfect- 
ly good security. Next, I wish you to take an 
early opportunity of acquainting Mr. Morton of 
the state of affairs between us. At some future 
time we can, if we like it, easily re-transfer our 
separate securities, and there the transaction be- 
tween us will terminate.” 

Allen stared, and smiled a hesitating acquies- 
cence to this sweeping and novel mode of trans- 
acting business. 

“ And now, Allen,” continued Sackville, “you 
are to act the character, not only of a creditor, but 
of a merciless one. With thid view, I will write 
a letter as from yourself to me, dated about ten 
days back; pressing for immediate payment. This 
you shall copy while I am here, and I will take it 
with me to Dodswell, and show it to Mr. Morton. 
You can fold it up, and seal it; and we can imitate 
the postmark sufficiently well for our purpose. 
You are no bad hand at an imitation.” 

Allen gave an uneasy smile, and hastily placed 
before Sackville the materials for writing. The 
letter was then written by Sackville; copied by Al- 
len in the proper form; directed, sealed, the seal 
broken, the letter creased and soiled, and a fac 
simile of the postmark ingeniously executed on 
the cover. 


204 


HERBERT LACY. 


And now, Allen, ^ pursued Sackville, I vvill- 
tell you what, in addition to all this, I mean to re- 
present to Mr. Morton. I shall tell him, that hav- 
ing heard a report, which you are rather inclined 
to disbelieve, of my being engaged to marry Miss 
Morton, you are willing to suspend your demand 
for immediate payment of the debt I owe you, on- 
ly on condition of my being able, within a week 
from this day, to produce to you a written paper 
from Mr. Morton, certifying the truth of such a 
report.” 

Allen looked very grave, and did not seem to 
like the proposal. “ I beg your pardon. Sir,” said 
he, for presuming to object; but I think that if I ' 
were to make such a stipulation, I should take a 
great deal too much upon myself; and I don’t quite 
like to be represented in such a light to Mr, Mor- 
ton. I think it would end in a disagreement.” 

^^Why, Allen!” said Sackville, with a scornful 
laugh, “are you afraid of quarrelling with your 
debtor? with the man that lies so utterly at your 
mercy?” 

“ But, Mr. Sackville, you forget that the debts 
are to pass in your name.” 

“ Yes, but I have made you my creditor for the 
full amount; and unless I can marry Miss Morton, 
you may have a very reasonable doubt that I shall 
not be able to discharge my debt to you. As for 
a quarrel with Mr. Morton, never dream of it. I 
trust to your address to make the matter easy to 
his feelings. You will find him slow to take of- 
fence.” 

“ It may be so. Sir,” rejoined Allen, with a 
dogged air of bluntness and simplicity; but I don’t 
see how I am to be the better for these schemes.” 

“As for that, Allen, though no immediate be- 
nefit may accrue to you, yet, as I am disposed to 
stand your friend, whatever is for my advantage, 
must ultimately be for yours. Besides, it is al- 


HERBERT LACY. 


205 


ways my intention to reward you handsomely for 
your trouble; and though you m^ not like to make 
out any account of the time expended in these, se- 
cret services, you shall find me a liberal task mas- 
ter. As an earnest of my good intentions, I beg 
you to accept this draft in advance.’^ 

Allen took the prnffered paper with a bow of 
acknowledgment, but still seemed reluctant to un- 
dertake the part that was pressed .upon him; plead- 
ed his ignorance of the ultimate object proposed, 
and his fears, lest by proceedin^in the dark, he 
should bring himself into some unpleasant situa- 
tion. 

You brought yourself into an unpleasant 
situation,’’ replied Sackville, his countenance dark- 
ening as he spoke, ‘‘ a situation which leaves you 
no choice, but to obey. I need not remind you 
that you are speaking to the man that can hang 
you. The circumstances of the forged draft can 
hardly have escaped your recollection. I do not, 
however, wish unnecessarily to recal things that 
are past; I should not have done so if it had not 
been for these symptoms of hesitation. As for any 
difficulties into which you can be brought, you are 
too clever a fellow to be easily entangled; and 1 
can hardly suppose that you would afiect any 
squeamishness before me; we know each other too 
well. It would be perfectly ridiculous. You are 
too wise to play so foolish a part. As for your 
wish to know my motives, and whole plan of op- 
eration, it is a very excusable piece of curiosity, 
which it is quite needless for me to gratify. It is 
a good maxim through life, Allen, never to tell 
more than is necessary.” 

Perhaps it may, Mr. Sackville,” replied Allen; 
but when a person is anxious to do the best he 
can for a gentleman, he naturally likes to be trust- 
ed. And now. Sir, if you please, Pll just tell you 
VoL I. 18 


206 


HERBERT LACY. 


that it was only the wish of being trusted, that 
made me ask you any thing about it. I know 
your plans and your reasons, Sir, just as well as if 
you had explained them. It is true. Sir, and I 
will convince you of it. You want to marry 
Miss Morton. You have as good as told me that 
yourself; but that is not all. You have just found 
out, that if you don’t marry her yourself, there is 
another that will, and that other is Mr. Lacy.” 

And how did you find out that?” cried Sack- 
ville, after a short pause of surprise. I did not 
know, Allen, that love affairs were in your line.” 

Few things come amiss to me, Sir,” replied 
Allen with a laugh. ‘‘ I always go about with my 
ears and eyes open, and as I am free in my talk to 
other people, they are always the same to me. I 
believe, Sir, I know pretty well what is passing in 
most neighbouring families — not that I mean to 
boast of it — one cannot help hearing a little. Sir. 
Servants know more than their masters suppose, 
and they Will talk. Sir, they will talk.” 

‘‘You are a clever spy,” said Sackville, with a 
smile; then after a short time spent in rumination, 
“Your information,” he resumed, “may, for 
aught I know, be very correct wdth respect to the 
intentions of Mr. Lacy; but I must lay my positive 
injunctions upon you, never from henceforth to 
mention them. As his marriage with Miss Mor- 
ton, is, for many reasons, never likely to take 
place, the less that is said of it the better. You 
will offend me very much by not observing strict 
silence on the Subject. You perhaps know, that 
the Mortons and Lacys have only very lately be- 
gun to be friendly after many j’^ears of coldness. 
Now, Allen, I have no scruple in saying to you, 
that under the present circumstances it would be 
much better for all parties that they should be upon 
the same cool terms as formerly.” 


HERBERT LACY. 


207 


I understand you, Sir,’’ said Allen. 

‘‘Young Lacy,” pursued Sackville, “led the 
way to reconciliation, and got into favour by an 
act of civility to Lord Rodborough. Perhaps you 
know that the refusal of the Bloxwich estate was 
offered to Lord Rodborough by Sir William Lacy, 
in the idea of its being, a greater object to Lord R. 
than to himself.” 

• “ I do. Sir,” replied Allen; “ and if you will be 
so good as to promise me never to mention, nor 
even hint what I am going to say, I will tell you 
something about that property.” 

“You may rely upon me,” said Sv’.kville. 

“Well, then, Sir,” lowering his ^mice, “the 
title is not worth snapping his fingers as he 

spoke. 

“ Have you known this long?” 

“ Yes, Sir, some time.” 

“ And have you ever told it in confidence to any 
but me?” 

“ To none but you. Sir,” replied Allen. 

Sackville remained silent for several minutes, 
while his countenance underwent frequent changes, 
as if the difficulties and advantages of some new 
project, were alternately passing in review before 
him. 

“ Have you ever had much to do with Sir Wil- 
liam Lacy?” was his first question, after a long si- 
lence. 

“ Yes, Sir; I have often been employed by him 
in one way or other; and know him very well.” 

“ And what do you think of him?” asked Sack- 
ville. 

“ Why, Sir, he is a pleasant gentleman to talk 
to; and good-humoured, and free spoken, and one 
that likes to have his joke; but I don’t think, some- 
how, that he is a clever hand at business. He is 
too flighty, too fond of talking of this thing, or 


308 


HERBERT LACr. 


that thing, or any thing that conies into his headf 
and he is mortally careless about his papers, and 
rather short of memory.” 

The sort of man,” pursued Sackville, ‘^that 
would not remember whether you had told him a 
thing or not, and who, if you wrote to him a 
letter of business, probably would not read it 
through.” 

Likely enough, Sir, by what I have seen of 
him.” 

‘‘Well now, Allen, it strikes me that from your 
long acquaintance with him, having out of compli- 
ment offered him the first refusal of this estate, you 
might, by possibility, also think proper to give 
him a hint about the defectiveness of the title.” 

“ I never did, I assure you. Sir.” 

“Well, well; but you might have done so; and 
if you had, Sir William might have totally forgot- 
ten it.” 

“ Possibly, Sir,” was Allen’s answer. 

“ You wrote to him, I believe, on the subject?” 

“I did. Sir.” 

“Was your letter a long one?” 

“Yes: I had many other things to mention, be- 
sides the Bloxwich business.” 

“ So much the better. Now, Allen,” pursued 
Sackville, “ this letter he has destroyed. I made 
that discovery this morning at Lacy Park. The 
Bloxwich property happened accidentally to be 
mentioned, and he said he would have shown me 
your letter about it, if he had not unluckily burnt 
it.” 

“Well, Sir?” said Allen, rather drily. 

“ Oh, you shall soon be enlightened,” continued 
Sackville. “ I am coming rapidly to the point. 
Here is a long letter on business, written to a man 
notoriously inattentive, which letter he has since 
destroyed. Do you suppose he remembered half 
of it?” 


HERBERT LACY. 


209 


should think not.^’ 

Or could recollect what was or was not in the 
letter?’^ 

Allen repeated his negative. 

Would he then be able to contradict a positive 
assertion respecting the contents of that letter? I 
say,, for instance, that he is told that the letter 
which he destroyed, contained a hint respecting the 
defective title of the Bloxwich property, would he 
be able to deny it? or, not having the letter, could 
he rebut the assertion?” 

I should think not,” replied Allen. 

I am glad that such is your opinion,” resumed 
Sackville’; “because this is the representation which, 
upon some favourable opportunity, I shall request 
you to make to Mr. Morton. I wish him to be 
led to think that Sir William Lacy had learned 
from you that the Bloxwich estate was not a desi- 
rable purchase. Nay, man, don’t pretend to re- 
monstrate: it must be done; you know that I have 
the means to enforce obedience, and am not the 
person to be trifled with,” and, as he said these 
words, he directed towards the hesitating Allen, a 
short, stern, intimidating glance, which distinctly 
painted to his helpless tool the terrible ruthlessness 
with which he could exercise his power if irritated 
by resistance. 

Allen cowered, abashed and trembling, beneath 
the influence of that glance. 

“ Well, Mr. Sackville,” said he, with a depre- 
cating shrug, “ it is not for such as me to argue and 
advise; but it is a strange business, and, to tell you 
my mind, I don’t at all like it. I shall ofiend a 
great many people, and get into all sorts of trouble. 
There are my employers for the Bloxwich proper- 
ty — they’ll think it very strange in me to go and 
let out that secret about the title, to the first per- 
it is ofiered to. Then there is Sir William 
18 ^ - 


son 


210 


HERBERT LACr. 


Lacy: I shall lose his favour, I am pretty sure, by 
going and telling lies about him. My Lord Rod- 
borough will be angry that I didn’t tell him as well 
as Sir William. And what is it all for? To breed 
dissensions between neighbours! A pretty employ- 
ment for a man of my character!” 

Your character! Come, come, Allen! that 
must have been a slip of the tongue, or you forgot, 
perhaps, who you were talking to. Never fear, 
I’ll carry you through; and as for solid recompense, 
you shall not want that, my honest fellow. Why, 
you are actually growing conscientious! It is a pity 
I am so pressed for time, or I would have let you 
carry on the joke. Breeding dissensions between 
neighbours ! and such neighbours ! such old and at- 
tached friends! Oh, it is really too atrocious. 
However, Allen, joking apart, the thing positively 
must be done. The ‘when’ and the ‘how’ shall be 
told you hereafter. And now, I believe, I have 
said all that was necessary, and I shall depend 
upon your strict observance,” and then, with a 
good-humoured smile, and a gracious inquiry af- 
ter Allen’s family, Sackville took up his haf and 
departed. 

It will have appeared from the preceding dia- 
logue, that Sackville had the means of exercising a 
strong control over Allen. He had in his possession 
a draft which Allen had forged in the name of Mrs. 
Denham, when in want of money several years ago. 
Mrs. Denham, out of a kind but mistaken spirit of 
lenity, had forborne to prosecute; but at the same 
time had, very inconsistently, kept both the forge- 
ry, and written confirmatory proofs of it, and they 
were found among her papers at the time of her 
death. Mrs. Denham, during her last illness, in- 
formed Sackville confidentially of this circumstance, 
and requested that the paper, if found, might be im- 
mediately destroyed, and that Allen might be al- 


HERBERT LACY. 


211 


lowed to escape with a suitable admonition. On the 
death of this lady the paper passed into the hands 
of Sackville, who was left her executor and residu- 
ary legatee. How far he had complied with her 
dying injunctions our readers have already seen. 


212 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Sweet pliability of man’s spirit that can, at once, surrender 
itself to illusions, which cheat expectation, and sorrow of their 
weary moments ! Sterx^e. 

We must now return to Herbert Lacy, whom 
we shall find looking forward, with the joyous awi- 
ticipation of prosperous love, to the ball at West- 
court on the ensuing Wednesday, where he felt as- 
sured that he should again meet Agnes. His im- 
patience, however, was not to be controlled, even 
by this promise of a speedy meeting; and on the 
Monday he rode over to call at Dodswell. Unluck- 
ily every body* was denied to him; and, therefore, 
the ball was still the goal to which his ardent hopes 
must be directed. 

At length, Wednesday evening arrived, and a 
very short time seemed now to intervene between 
him and happiness. Lady Lacy had put in requi- 
sition the family diamonds; and, attired to the 
complete satisfaction of herself and maid, proceeded 
to require a decided answer from her vaccillating 
husband. Sir William had for many days been 
grumbling at intervals about the approaching ball, 
and now at length, wheij pressed for a decision, 
sturdily determined not to go. 

“ I think you had better,^’ said Lady Lacy. 

Why?” said Sir William, very drily. 

‘‘Why?” oh — why — because I think you wil 
like it.” ^ 


HERBERT LACY. 213 

Thank you, my dear, but I am sure I shall not. 
Have you any other reason?’’ 

Yes, many; in the first place, I think you 
should go, because you ought.” 

‘Should’ and bought’ are equivalent termsj 
therefore your position is, that I ought to go be- 
cause I ought. Quite incontrovertible; and why 
ought I?” 

“ Now, my dear Sir William, that is so tire- 
some ! I wish you would not plague me with your 
reasons. You know very well that it is right you 
should go, because they asked us, and it would not 
look civil not to go ; and if you went it would 
please Lord Rodborough.” 

“My dear Lady Lacy,- Lord Rodborough is not 
so easily pleased as you imagine.” 

“I don’t know how that may be, but I know 
that you have no good excuse for staying away.” 

“Yes; I am labouring under an indisposition — 
to go,” he added, in a whisper. 

“ You don’t mean that you are ill?” 

“Why not? Surely a man in my station may be 
allowed to have a cold. ” 

“But, Sir William, you have no cold — I cannot 
say that — it would not be true. ” 

“ That is my concern, not yours. You can say 
I told you I had a cold; and people will only re- 
spect you the more for taking your husband’s word 
so easily.” 

Lady Lacy looked rather baffled; but returned 
once more to the charge. “ I think,” said she, 
“ if I go, you should.” 

‘f That, my dear, is what logicians call a non se- 
quitur. Our cases are very different. For me 
to appear at the Westcourt ball would be neither 
an advantage to others, nor a pleasure to myself: 
but every body knows that you must go to show 
your jewels, and chaperon Herbert.” 


214 


HERBERT LACY. 


“Chaperon Herbert! Nonsense, Sir William! 
Herbert can chaperon himself. However, I see 
there is no use in talking— if you won’t, you 
won’t — that’s plain; only I really wish you would, 
because people will think it strange to see me 
alone; I shall look so odd without you!” 

“ My dear, you do yourself an injustice; I have 
no doubt you will look quite as well as your neigh- 
bours. As for the practice of a wife appearing 
alone in public, console yourself with the reflec- 
tion, that it is both frequent and fashionable.” 
Sir William was evidently impracticable; and, by 
Herbert’s advice. Lady Lacy forbore all further en- 
treaty, and made up her mind to go without him. 

At length the carriage was at the door, and Her- 
bert naturally impatient to be gone. Sir William 
took him aside before parting. 

“ Herbert,” he, said with a good-humoured 
smile, “ let me, once more, before you go into the 
inflammatory atmosphere of a ball-room, temper 
your ardour with a little of my cool discretion. 
Beware of making a declaration. Dance with her, 
and talk to her as much as you please, but on no 
account commit yourself. You can lose nothing 
by delay. Your attachment, if of the true kind, 
will only. groAv the stronger — if not, it cannot be 
such as would ensure the prospect of happiness 
in marriage. And now, good night — go, and be 
happy.” 

It seemed impossible to Herbert, at that joyful 
moment, that such an injunction should fail to be 
accomplished; and the conviction increased in force 
as he arrived within sight of the stately mansion 
of Westcourt, which, with the lights gleaming 
through the darkness from the numerous windows 
of the suite, and from the moving lines of car- 
riages, which were now assembling in considera- 
ble numbers, presented a very brilliant spectacle. 


HERBERT LACY. 


215 


The ball of this night was one of those fetes by 
which Lord Rodborough at once gratified his love 
of display, upheld his consequence, contrived for 
a considerable time to fill the heads of his neigh- 
bours, and dispensed, at an easy rate, that exten- 
sive hospitality which, though so commendable in 
his situation, he was much averse to the more ef- 
fectual mode of paying off by small instalments. 
The ball had been talked of for two months alrea- 
dy, and the youthful bosoms of many who were 
included in the favoured list had long beat high 
with expectation. The preparations had been de- 
clared to exceed belief. Report said, that the 
grand suite was to be newly furnished for the oc- 
casion; that men from Gillows’ had come down for 
that purpose; and extra buildings had been erect- 
ed for the reception of the horses and carriages. 
Herein, however, was found to be some mistake; 
as no men had arrived from Gillows’, or had ever 
been sent for; and the report of the preparation 
of additional stabling was found to have originated 
in the erection of a new deer-house. Neverthe- 
less, the ball was certainly to be one of the best that 
ever that country had been blessed with. There 
was to be a royal duke — that was certain, though 
it was not known which; several foreigners of, the 
first distinction; a large assortment of nobility from 
distant countries; and half-a-dozen persons of fash- 
ionable notoriety to be stared at by the — —shire 
natives: the band was to consist of a select detach- 
ment from the Almack’s orchestra, headed by Co- 
linet; and Gunter, with half his shop at his back, 
was to come down in person to prepare the supper; 
plate was to be displayed in unexampled profusion; 
and the tables were to groan under the united ser- 
vices of several distinguished friends. 

Numerous were the engagements which had been 
made and unmade with reference to this great event; 


216 


HERBERT LACY. 


and most of the houses within ten miles of West- 
cOiirt, were to be filled for the occasion, the Lacys 
being almost the only exception to the general spi- 
rit of accommodating hospitality. 

Lady Lacy and Herbert were rather early, but 
found several persons assembled. A very large 
party was staying in the house, and consequently 
the rooms did not present that meagre promise of 
gaiety which is generally held out to early arrivers 
at a ball. The coup d?(^il was very good. The 
gallery, a long and handsome room, was appropri- 
ated to dancing, and was brilliantly illuminated by 
an immense lamp, procured for the occasion, the 
ponderous bulk of which, as it hung suspended 
over the heads of the visiters, caused some of the 
more apprehensive seniors to turn rather an anx- 
ous eye towards the massy chain by which it was 
upheld. In the anti-room to the gallery was a con- 
siderable assemblage of persons, and amongst them, 
standing near the door, was Lady Rodborough, 
stationed ready to receive her visiters, and talking 
at intervals to Mr. Bellasys, one of those favoured 
danglers who were honoured with her pulDlic no- 
tice, a gentleman of good face, figure and address, 
who, without any great aid from wealth, talents, 
or connexions, had, by dint of thinking well of 
himself, induced many others to be of the same 
opinion. 

It would have been an amusing study to one 
who had nothing else to engage his attention, to 
observe with what dexterous discrimination her la- 
dyship performed the duties of reception; how, 
without any stately airs of coldness, or the slight- 
est departure from cheerful civility, she could mark 
and convey to the initiated by-standers of her par- 
ticular set, her estimation of the respective preten- 
sions of the passing visiters; and, at the same time, 
preserve a full assertion of her own superior conse- 


HERBERT LACY. 


217 


quence in the calm air with which she saw the 
united gentility of the county pass ip review be- 
fore her. 

Her reception of Lady Lacy was very satisfac- 
tory; considering the slightness of their acquaint- 
ance it was perhaps more full of empressement than 
could have been expected; and showed, that Lady 
Rodborough had taken a higher estimate of the im- 
portance of the Lacy family, than the generality of 
their neighbours did, and was conscious of those 
claims which they, themselves were so backward 
in asserting. Lady Lacy lost no time in acquit- 
ting herself of an apology for Sir William, who, 
she guardedly said, ‘Mid not feel himself well 
enough to come out.’^ 

Lady Rodborough was “very sorry,” and smiled 
and bowed her off as expeditiously as she could; 
and then turned to say a few words to Herbert, to 
tell him that she had heard of him at Huntley, and 
to talk a little about the Applebys, who, she said, 
were staying at Dodswell, and were to come with 
the Morton party. This explained to Lacy that 
Agnes was not yet arrived; and his eyes, which 
had been anxiously wandering in quest of her, be- 
came more quiescent from that moment. 

Fresh arrivals soon warned him not to engross 
many minutes of Lady Rodborough^s valuable at- 
tention, and he moved onward to pay his respects 
to the Ladies Jane and Mary Sedley, From these 
young ladies his reception was very favourable. 
Their father, who had lately received a good report 
of the state of Sir William Lacy^s circumstances, 
and had discovered Herbert to be the only son, 
had given them to understand, that he was a per- 
son to whom they might venture to be gracious; 
and Herbert now received, in their present treat- 
ment of him, the benefit of this intimation. 

Lord Rodborough had not yet accosted him. He 

VoL I. 19 


218 


HERBERT LACY. 


was sitting on a sofa in the gallery, making himself 
agreeable to a foreign princess, and at the same 
time repressing the caresses of an Italian grey- 
hound, and playing with the light flowing curly 
locks of his youngest daughter, a child of about 
six years old. He had studied all modes of ap- 
pearing with effect, and had decided in his own 
mind, that to be stately was. mauvais ton, and a 
state device for assuming consequence; and that 
nothing would have a better air than to seem indif- 
ferent to his own splendour, to sink as much as 
possible the character of the host, leave the cares 
of reception to Lady Rodborough, and lounge about 
the house, and be carelessly good-humoured, and 
negligently civil to all who might chance to fall in 
his way. 

So far was decided; but this was not sufficient. 
The pursuance of this line of conduct alone, could 
not have distinguished him from his guests; where- 
as, though his ostensible object, like theirs, was 
only to amuse himself, it was necessary that he 
should be much more at home, than any of them 
in common propriety ought to be. Any little sprain 
or accident, that would have enabled him to dis- 
pense with the strict formalities of an evening 
dress, or to wear a sling, or a slashed sleeve, or to 
attire himself in any other interesting manner, 
would have been very convenient. But as not 
even gout would come to his aid, and allow him 
to let the world see, that he was conscious of be- 
ing in his own house, he was obliged to have re- 
course to other methods of producing a sensation. 
It struck him that a display of parental fondness, 
would form a very interesting and softening con- 
trast with the more awful points of his character: 
and, accordingly, his youngest daughter, a beauti- 
ful child, who was like her father, and had been 
indulged into being very fond of him, was kept 


HERBERT LACY. 


219 


up beyond her usual hours, that she might hang 
about him, attract the attention of the ladies, be a 
pretty play-thing when he had nothing else to do, 
and a convenient excuse for any inattention to his 
less distinguished guests, of which he might think 
proper to be guilty. 


N 


220 HERBERT LACV. 


CHAPTER XXIT 


From the top of all my trust, 

Mishap hath throwen me in the dust. 

Sill T. WlTATT* 

Meanwhile, the minutes rolled on, the crowd 
poured in, and the contents of the overflowing an- 
ti-room, now half filled the spacious gallery. The 
band commenced an enlivening air; young ladies 
and gentlemen began to file off from the sides to 
the centre; sundry arrangements seemed to be 
made, in which was chiefly audible, the word 
vis-a-vis:^* there was a momentary crowd, and 
movement, and confusion; when all at once, order 
sprung up, like the world out of chaos, from this 
seeming irregularity; and as the chaperons fell 
back, a large proportion of the younger part of the 
assembly, were seen to be symmetrically arranged 
in several regular hollow squares: a slight double 
clap of the hand was heard: the band struck up, and 
the ball was begun. 

A quadrille was ended, and the Mortons were 
not come; another was begun, and they w’ere still 
absent; and Herbert, who was vexed at their non- 
appearance, could not help wondering to his part- 
ner, Lady Mary Sedley, what could make them so 
very late. 

I don’t know,” said the young lady, in a tone, 
which also implied that neither did she care. I 
suppose it is only Lady Louisa taking time to make 
up her mind to be imprudent and come out. Poor 


HERBERT LACY. 


221 


Lady Loo ! What a pity she can never fancy her- 
self quite well! Whenever you ask her how she 
does? she says, invariably, “thank you, better.” 
I cannot understand how she happens to be always 
improving, and never as well as other people. She 
must have had a large stock of illness to begin 
with.” 

Herbert next ventured to mention Agnes, and to 
sound Lady Mary’s opinion of her: but the lady did 
not seem interested in the subject, merely said she 
was a nice girl, and after finding out a likeness for 
her, which Herbert could not feel to be compli- 
mentary, was glad to turn the conversation to some 
good mark for ridicule. Herbert unintentionally 
assisted her in this respect, by asking, if she knew 
the Applebys. 

“ Oh, perfectly,” was her answer. “ You must 
not quiz them to me, Mr. Lacy, for they are some- 
how or other related to us. * Lady Appleby always 
calls us cousins. What a dear, civil creature she 
is ! She says pretty things to one, that sound as if 
they had been taken,* word for word, out of a note 
of congratulation. And then what a sprightly per- 
son Ac is ! I see them now — there he stands, pity- 
ing himself for some piece of good fortune.” 

“Were not they to come from Dodswell?” 

“ Yes,” said Lady Mary, “and I suppose the 
Mortons are come too.” 

Herbert looked eagerly around him, and at that 
moment, the crowd opening, enabled him to see 
the object of all his solicitude. She was standing 
near the entrance to the ball-room, leaning on the 
arm of Sackville, who was talking to Lady Rod- 
borough. She looked grave, and rather pale; but 
Herbert was disposed to attribute this to the glare 
of the lamps, and thought her as beautiful as ever. 
He saw her eye directed to the place where he 
was, and he thought she recognized him; but this 


222 


HERBERT LACY. 


might be a mistake, for she betrayed no signs of 
recognition, and immediately looked another way. 
Herbert tried to catch her eye, but in vain. She 
soon retired to a seat, where she was screened from 
his view, by the standers in front; and Herbert was 
obliged to resign all hopes of seeing more of her, 
till he had made his bow to Lady Mary. 

Scarcely had he condusted that lady to a seat, 
than he saw Mr. Morton near him. He thought 
he appeared unwilling to accost him, sidled off as 
he approached, and persisted in looking another 
way, till he could no longer refrain from acknow- 
ledging Herbert’s address. When he did, it was 
rather uneasily. He said a few common-place 
things about the ball; inquired after Sir William; 
regretted not having been at home, when Lacy 
called on the Monday; and then seemed glad to 
break off the conference, by turning to talk to 
another of his acquaintance. His manner was evi- 
dently changed from what it was when they met 
last; and Herbert was uneasy at the circumstance. 

Unconscious how he could have given offence, 
he was the more desirous of trying what would 
be his reception from Agnes. He soon found her: 
she was seated, and Sackville by her side. She 
seemed to be conscious of his approach, but could 
not look at him; turning still more pale, cast down 
her eyes, and tried to seem attentive to what was 
said by the Miss Tyrwhitts, who were sitting on 
the other side of her. They were very ineligible 
witnesses for this meeting, having made good use 
of their eyes at Huntley, and being at least suspi- 
cious, if not certain, that Agnes and Lac}^ were 
mutually attached. Sackville comprehended all 
the unpleasantness of the situation in which Agnes 
was placed. He saw her agitation, and wishing to 
give her time for recovery, drew off the attention 
of Lacy, by addressing him finst himself. 


HERBERT LACY. 


223 


I was sorry to miss yoii/^ said he, on Mon- 
day. I had ridden out not long before you called.” 

He then inquired after Sir William and Ladjr 
Lacy, and by the time Herbert had answered his 
questions, Agnes could receive him with tolerable 
composure. Her manner on his first approach, 
had startled and perplexed him, and her present air, 
though much improved in composure, was still 
grave and distant, and quite unlike what he expect- 
ed. He felt chilled by such a reception, and hard- 
ly knew how to address her. An inquiry after 
Lady Louisa, and a question, whether she was 
present or not, were the most obvious things to say 
after the first greeting. 

Tolerably well,” and she is not here,” were 
the brief, cold answers which he received; and 
then followed a long pause, equally embarrassing 
to the feelings of each. The coldness of Agnes 
was unaccountable to Herbert, and for a moment, 
lie questioned with himself, whether he could have 
offered her any unintentional slight, by overlook- 
ing her in the crowd. I first caught, sight of 
you,” said he, wishing to be satisfied on this point, 
just before the end of the last quadrille; had you 
been in the room long?” 

She said she had but just entered it. 

Then you will acquit me of blindness, I 
hope?” 

Certainly,” was all she answered; and it was 
uttered with an air of absence, as if she scarcely 
knew what she Said. 

Nothing could be more discouraging, yet Her- 
bert was going to address her again, when he felt 
his arm touched by some one behind, and Hart- 
ley’s black, curly head, was projected across him, 
dispensing ‘‘how d’ye do’s” to Agnes and the 
Miss Tyrwhitts. “ Herbert,” said he, immedi- 
ately afterwards, half aloud, “I knew it was you, 


224 


HERBERT LACY. 


though I had not the honour of seeing your face; 
I saw Miss Morton’s, and that was enough, for I 
knew where you ought to be. Miss Morton, Lacy 
does not look happy, I hope he has not been in the 
water again.” 

Agnes and Herbert both attempted, with ill suc- 
cess, to cover their vexation under a forced laugh, 
and Hartley, who saw that his observation was not 
well received, turned away, and applied himself 
to the easier task of entertaining the Miss Tyr- 
whitts. Herbert, at the same time walked away, 
dejected and mortified, by a reception for which 
he could assign no possible reason. He had, how- 
ever, some satisfaction in thinking, that it did not 
seem the result of anger. Perhaps it arose simply 
from dejection; perhaps from illness, or fatigue; 
and this thought sensibly appeased him. 

He was standing at a little distance from Agnes, 
consoling himself with this idea, with his eyes un- 
consciously fixed upon her, when he found him- 
self addressed by Sackville. ‘‘ 1 know whom you 
are looking at,” said the latter, in a whisper, is 
not she charming?” Lacy started and coloured, 
and almost mechanically assented. ‘‘I am glad 
you say so,” pursued Sackville, in the same quiet 
tone, “for I have a high opinion of your judg- 
ment.” Lacy thought the speech an odd one, and 
gave a quick inquiring look at his companion, but 
returned no answer. 

There was a short pause, during which, Lacy 
had been turning in his mind this trivial remark, 
which every instant seemed to increase in signifi- 
cance, and to be the precursor of something still 
more startling, when Sackville, putting his arm 
within his, proceeded, in the same confidential whis- 
per. ‘‘I believe,” said he, speaking in his ear, 
‘‘ you have never heard of our engagement?” 

What engagement?” repeated Herbert, while 
an ominous chill ran through his frame. 


HERBERT LACY. 225 

mean,” said Sackville, ^‘our intended mar- 
riage.” 

The most terrible denunciation, hurled at Lacy, 
in a voice of thunder, could not have produced a 
more overpowering effect, than did these few sim- 
ple words, so gently whispered in the tone of con- 
fidential friendship. He turned cold with agitation, 
and felt as if pulsation and breathing were for a 
while suspended. A dizziness seemed to seize 
him, and the lights and company swam confused 
before his eyes. He seemed to feel nothing but 
the hand of his rival upon his arm, and to hear 
only the low tones of his voice, though he knew 
not what he said, for all that followed those appal- 
ling words, ‘^our intended marriage,” had fallen 
unheeded on his ear. 

With all this, he preserved a painful conscious- 
ness of his situation; of the many eyes that were 
prepared to notice any outward expression of his 
feelings; of the necessity of concealing them from 
the view of Sackville; and the consequent neces- 
sity of external calmness; and also that he was re- 
quired to return immediately a suitable reply to 
Sackville’s communication. 

To the performance of this painful task, he rous- 
ed himself with difficulty, and promptly uttered 
something expressive of his surprise at this intel- 
ligence, and thanks for the early information; but 
in what terms these sentiments were couched he 
scarcely knew. Still he almost doubted the truth 
of what he had heard, and it began to appear like 
a horrible dream, when the ill-omened voice of 
Sackville, again awakened him to the sad reality. 

‘‘It has not long been settled,” said he, “and 
is not generally known; but you are quite at liber- 
ty to mention it. When, things of this kind are 
positively determined, I see no use in making a 
mystery of them.’ It is better to be explicit. Do 
not you agree with me?” 


226 


HERBERT LACr. 


Lacy assented. 

^‘She concurs with me entirely on that point,’’ 
pursued Sackville, looking at Agnes, and drawing 
Lacy gently towards the place where she was sit- 
ting; and also with respect to appearing in public. 
Seclusion, you know, is much in vogue, in these 
cases; but I think it idle, and she is so good as to 
conform to my notions; and so you see here she is 
to-night. She is not well; but as she. had decided 
upon coming, she did not like to change her pur- 
pose. I believe she was influenced partly by the 
fear of keeping me away. And now 1 have a little 
request to make. Do ask her to dance: I know 
she likes dancing, and she won’t stand up with me, 
because I am suffering from a sprain. Under these 
circumstances, it is not every one we should ap- 
prove of as a partner; but you are a friend, so let 
me propose you.” 

Lacy had nothing to object; and Sackville in- 
stantly stepping up to Agnes, and leaning down to- 
wards her, said, hope you will dance. Pray 
do — dance with Lacy; he means to ask you. I 
have just told him every thing?” 

She turned pale at this agitating proposal, but at- 
tempted no denial. Indeed at that moment, her 
tongue refused .to give utterance to any words; and 
her silence was taken by Sackville for acquiescence. 
He looked round at Lacy, who was standing near, 
like a criminal awaiting sentence; and who, on 
catching Sackville’s eye, mechanically approached. 
At the same time, Agnes rose from her seat: not a 
syllable was said by either; and a slight inclination 
of the head, concluded the compact. Lacy offered 
his arm; she accepted it in silence; and they walk- 
ed away together, to take their places in the quad- 
rille set which was then being formed. 

How effectually do the obligations of society 
compel us to throw the mask of external calmness 


HERBERT LACY. 


227 


over feelings of inward anguish! and how im- 
perfectly can we judge by the unruffled exterior of 
those who tread with us the circle of the world, of 
the secret writhings of the spirit! Little was it sus- 
pected by any of those who mingled with Agnes 
and Herbert in the dance, how agonizing, at that 
festive moment, were their respective feelings. In 
addition to the painfulness of meeting under such 
altered circumstances, Agnes was severely wounded 
by Herbert's having wished to dance with her, after 
knowing her engagement; and she regretted that 
she had not refused him. What did his conduct 
seem to show? That he had never cared for her; 
that he had basely trifled with her affections; and 
that he was inclined to continue his insiduous at- 
tentions at a time when they became actually cri- 
minal. It might be, hereafter, a subject of thank- 
fulness, that she had been timely saved from a 
union with such a man ; but this she could not feel 
at such a time, and the sense of his unworthiness, 
only planted another thorn in her bosom. To Her- 
bert, still almost stupified with the shock of this 
sudden announcement, the situation was terrible 
beyond description. He had looked forward with 
natural delight to the happy time when he might 
press the hand of Agnes in the dance. That time 
had now arrived, and under what circumstances! 
He had felt her hand tremble as it rested on his 
arm. It might proceed from the embarrassing no- 
velty of her situation; it might bean indication that 
he was not indifferent to her. Yet if so, why was 
she another’s? And if it were so, what would it 
avail him? His rival was a kind, confiding friend, 
who had saved his life at the hazard of his own; 
and honour and gratitude forbad Lacy to endeavour 
to supplant him. He Ichew not whether Agnes was 
aware of his acquaintance with the altered circum- 
stances under which they now met. He longed to 


228 


HERBERT LACT. 


apprize her of it, and to say that it was at the re- 
quest of Sackville that he had ventured to claim 
her hand. 

Once or twice, he was on the point of speaking 
to that effect, and the words were on his lips, when 
fears would flash across his mind, and the time, the 
place, publicity, chance of being overheard, her 
probable embarrassment, perhaps displeasure; these 
and similar considerations, rose to his imagination, 
and diverted him from his half-formed purpose. In 
the deliriunTof the moment, he shunned the subject 
as something abhorrent to his nature, and strove to 
steep his senses in temporary forgetfulness. He 
would be, if possible, her gay, unthinking partner 
in the dance, and hide, even from her, the agony 
that dwelt within. 

Little passed between them, and that little was 
rendered studiously light and irrelevant, and on his 
part, even gay. Little did he know how the display 
of this miserable gaiety operated against him in her 
mind. She saw, indeed, that it did not sit easily 
upon him ; but she attributed this his discomposure 
to the smitings of a conscience which reproached 
him for having trifled with her affections. 

Had Lacy b^een less ardently attached, and had 
the blow fallen less heavily upon him, he would 
probably have been alive to the impressions which 
his conduct might produce in her. But in him, feel- 
ing was too powerfully predominant, to allow cau- 
tion and reflection to opfCrate; and his discerning 
faculties were blunted by the weight of this great 
calamity. 

No allusion had yet been made to that circum- 
stance which must annihilate the hopes of Lacy. 
He felt that it must soon be done, and yet he knew 
not when or how. Minute succeeded minute, and 
no present moment seemed appropriate to such a 
task. Hemmed round with smiling triflers, with 


HERBERT LACY. 


2‘29 


light laughter ringing in his ear, and scraps of live- 
ly common-place, at each instant audible around 
him, how could he frame his mind to speak of that 
which seemed as it were to extinguish the very light 
of his existence? As little would he in that scene of 
merriment have dwelt on the death of a dear relation. 

The dance was ended; he had re-conducted Ag- 
nes to her seat; and the opportunity seemed to be 
lost. He stood awhile irresolute before her, mus- 
tering a courage which now promised to be rather 
dangerous than useful. His mind was in a better 
frame for speaking to her on this agitating topic, 
and he was prepared to have conveyed in a few 
simple words his knowledge of her intended mar- 
riage, and wishes for her happiness. He had no 
longer a chance of saying any thing that shbuld be 
heard by her alone; but this he was now compelled 
to disregard, and he was about to bend forward to 
address her, when his arm was touched by a fan, 
and turning round he found himself accosted by his 
mother. 

^^Oh, Herbert,” said Lady Lacy, have been 
looking for you — come this way — I have some- 
thing to say to you. How hot it is! Have you 
been dancing? Where is Emily ?’^ 

have not seen my sister lately.” 

Give me your arm; I want to find her. What 
an excellent ball! I have just been talking to the 
Dash woods. Maria Dash wood looks so ill ! I won- 
der how. they could think of bringing her! Lady 
Dashwood says, she nodded to you just now, and 
you would not know her. I must take you to her 
to make your peace. By the bye, have you asked 
Charlotte Hartley to dance?” 

‘‘No, Ma^am; I have hardly seen her.” 

“Oh, then, do! Indeed you ought, — and she 
has been sitting still, poor girl, all the last set. 
Are you engaged to any one now?” 

VoL. I. 20 


230 


HERBERT LAC1% 


“Oh, then, pray ask her; there she is; I am 
pretty sure she is not engaged.’’ 

No more she was; and as Lady Lacy continued 
to give him very broad hints in the hearing of the 
young lady, who evidently expected what was to 
follow, Herbert, however unwilling, could not 
without positive incivility, avoid leading her out. 
This, in the present state of his feelings, was to him 
a cruel penance. Miss Hartley was in lively spi- 
rits, and naturally expected a corresponding gaiety, 
from her partner, and this gaiety, amidst the tor- 
ments of anguish almost insupportable, did Lacy 
endeavour to assume. The topics too, which Miss 
Hartley chose to introduce, were often of such a 
nature as to be peculiarly distressing. 

‘‘ How Miss Morton is fallen ofl'!” said she, af- 
ter looking at the dejected countenance of Agnes. 

Don’t you think so, Mr Lacy?” 

‘^She is rather young to fall off,” said Lacy; 
^^she only happens not to be well.” 

“ Ah, perhaps it is that, or perhaps it is her dress. 
She is certainly not well dressed to-night — though 
perhaps she would not look well, if she was well 
dressed; and yet stjll, I don’t know, after all, whe- 
ther it is not the dress that makes all the difference. 
What do you think, Mr. Lacj^P” 

I am no judge in a question of dress.” 

Oh, yes, you are, if you would but think so. 
I cannot say Miss Morton strikes me as being so 
very, very handsome. She is not one of my beau- 
ties. Only look at Augusta Tyrwhitt; she is real- 
ly perfectly lovely. There is no comparison be- 
tween her and Miss Morton.” 

“They are very different indeed,” said Lacy, 
and turned his head to avoid the pursuance of so 
unpleasant a theme. 


HERBERT LACY. 


231 


Supper was soon announced; and Herbert, as in 
xluty bound, conducted Miss Hartley thither, and 
sat by her at the table. Scarcely were they seated, 
and had begun to look about them, than Herbert 
discovered, to his sorrow, that Agnes and Sack- 
ville were situated directly opposite. To assume, 
under any circumstances, an unrestrained and cheer- 
ful manner, was now a painful task to Lacy; but to 
be exposed to their observation was a ten-fold ag- 
gravation of his misery. 

Nor ^vas the evil less to Agnes, who, though she 
thought at first that nothing could lessen the mis- 
fortune of being again subjected to the agitating 
presence of Lacy, would rather have seen him seat- 
ed by any one than Charlotte Hartley. This young 
lady was in excellent spirits, and Agnes internally 
reproached herself for repining at her happiness. 
Lacy also wishing tp divert his thoughts, and sen- 
sible of the necessity of concealing for the present 
what he felt, exerted himself to talk to Miss Hart- 
ley; and this appearance of marked attention, which 
was not unobserved by Agnes, tended only to con- 
firm her in a belief of his utter want of regard for 
her, and of the truth of his reported engagement to 
that lady. 

The necessity of a further interview with Agnes, 
continued to press with increasing force on Lacy’s 
mind; and every minute brought fresh wonder, that 
hopes so vitally dear to him, should have been dis- 
missed without a word. An opportunity was now 
eagerly sought; and the supper being ended, and he 
at length disencumbered of his partner, it was his 
first endeavour to find Agnes out. In a large house, 
with many rooms thrown open, and full of compa- 
ny, this was not an easy task; and, difficult, in 
truth, did Lacy find it. In his perambulations, he 
was first arrested by Lady Rodborough, who char- 
ged him with a little mission into the ball room; 


232 


HERBERT LACY. 


and he was then fastened upon by Lady Appleby, 
from whose elegant superabundance of civil say^ 
ings, there was little chance of immediate escape. 

‘‘I do hope, Mr. Lacy,” she said, with a plain- 
tive look of expostulation, ‘Uhat you have no im- 
mediate intention of running away from this de- 
lightful ball; for indeed, I must say that it has gone 
off remarkably well, and has been very fully ^nd 
numerously attended: and must, I am sure, have 
been highly satisfactory to both Lord and Lady 
Rodborough, as indeed Lady Rodborough told me 
herself; for she said, that they had had several dis- 
appointments, and never expected to have had the 
pleasure of seeing so many of their friends about 
them; and now that they are here, I am sure I hope 
they will not think of breaking up so early, for that 
would be a thousand pities — and indeed, I must say 
that I think very few have actually ordered their 
carriages yet — at least, I know that only half of our 
party have any immediate intention of going. Mr. 
Morton, and myself, and Elizabeth, and Augusta, 
will probably stay sometime; and indeed the others 
would not go if it were not that Miss Morton 
feels rather overcome with the heat, and is not 
equal ” 

Miss Morton going?” exclaimed Lacy. 

Yes, she is, and Lord Appleby, and ” • 

Lacy would not stay to hear the enumeration of 
those who were to accompany her; and trusting that 
Lady Appleby’s good nature would forgive the ab- 
ruptness of his departure, hastily passed on, fear- 
ing that the opportunity might even now be lost, 
and vowing that if it were possible he would speak 
to Agnes again that night. He re-entered the anti- 
room — she was not there, nor in the saloon — she 
was probably gone to the entrance hall. Hc' ask- 
ed a servant, who met him in the corridor, if Mr. 
Morton’s carriage was called. “ No, Sir,” was 
the answer, and the man passed on. 


HERBERT LACY. 


233 


Lacy felt relieved from a great part of his anxi- 
ety, and was on the point of turning back, when 
the call of Lord Appleby’s carriage stops the 
way,” caught his ear, which was immediately fol- 
lowed by the information that Lord Appleby was 
coming down. It instantly struck him that Agnes 
was going in that carriage, and that his exertions 
were indeed fruitless. There was no use in pro- 
ceeding, yet he could not be satisfied Vvithout be- 
ing assured by ocular proof of her actual departure. 
He entered the- hall, saw a carriage at the door, 
with the step let down, and Sackville handing in 
a lady, whom, as her face was turned from him 
and her head enveloped in a hood, he could not 
distinguish; but who he doubted not was Agnes. 
In another minute the carriage was gone, and Lacy 
returned in useless regret to the ball-room. 

Lady Lacy was in no haste to return; and for 
another hour did Herbert endure the misery of 
^ feeling himself obliged to wear the galling mask of 
cheerfulness, and to talk and smile, while his mind 
was afflicted with a more poignant sorrow than ho 
had yet known; 

At length, he was released from this state of 
torment; and never did prisoner quit his dungeon 
more willingly than he escaped from the splendid 
mansion of Westcourt. Little was said on the way 
home, for he pretended sleep, that he might muse 
‘in silence over the events of the past evening. 


234 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


True generosity rises above the ordinary rules of social con- 
duct, and flows with mucli too full a stream to be compre- 
hended within the precise marks of formal precepts. It sanc- 
tifies every passion, and adds grace to every acquisition of the 
soul : and if it does not necessarily include, at least, it reflects 
a lustre upon the whole circle of moral and intellectual quali- 
ties. . 

Melmoth — Fitzoslmme^s Letters. 

After a night of feverish sleep, Lacy awoke to 
a melancholy recollection of the past, and an anx- 
ious consideration of the steps which it now re- 
mained for him to take. His final determination 
was to see Agnes, if possible, that morning, and to 
defer all communication to his father, till he could 
also relate to him the result of the interview. 

At breakfast Herbert met Sir William, who doubt- 
ing not that his son had passed an evening of the 
most unmixed gratification, assailed him with many 
sportive remarks and questions, which it was dis- 
tressing to receive, and difficult to answer. Agi- 
tated by these unconscious attacks, Herbert with- 
drew himself as soon as possible; and being eager to 
arrive at a clearer understanding of the terms on 
which he and Agnes were henceforth to meet, rode 
over to Dodswell. On arriving there, he was told 
that Mr. Morton and Sackville were not at home; 
neither were the ladies, “ who,” added the ser- 
vant, ‘^are out walking.” 

As the man said this, Herbert cast his eyes to- 
wards the shrubbery; and, at the same time, caught 


HERBERT LACY. 235 

a glimpse of a female figure at a distance, which he 
immediately conceived to be Agnes. It disap- 
peared almost as soon as it was visible; but it was 
sufficient to determine his course; and, giving his 
liorse to the servant, he set out in quest of her. 

Agnes, who had suffered much, and who felt 
constrained to assume tranquillity in the presence 
of Sackville and her father, was ineffectually en- 
d^Vouring to allay the fever of her mind in a soli- 
tary walk; and Sackville, who understood her feel- 
ings, had considerately abstained from intruding 
his society when he knew she wished to be alone. 
Walking slowly to and fro in a sequestered alley 
of the shrubbery, earnestly did she endeavour to 
collect her scattered thoughts. In many various 
lights did she consider the conduct of Lacy, in 
which there was much that she did not understand. 
That he should have received, so coolly, tidings 
which, if his former manner were any thing but 
the most hollow and frivolous gallantry, ought to 
have cost him such a pang? — That it should in- 
stantly have been followed by a request of her 
Iiand, as if their situations were still unchanged! 
That he should have uttered not one syllable in 
allusion to this startling event! — these were all 
subjects of sorrow and surprise. His silence, it 
is true, might be interpreted favourably. An in- 
different person would, perhaps, have whispered 
some formula of congratulation ; one who felt deep- 
ly could not. His manner, too, was far from be- 
ing cheerful and composed; and though there were 
gleams of gaiety in it, it was a forced unnatural 
gaiety, as if assumed to conceal his real feelings. 

These considerations again induced her to be- 
lieve that Lacy really cared for her. Then again 
would she reproach herself for questioning on such 
a subject: she was the affianced bride of another, 
and must learn to forget that Lacy had ever held a 


236 


HERBERT LACY. 


place in her heart. Then arose a consideration still 
more serious, whether she were justified, with her 
affections thus disposed, in accepting the hand of 
another; whether she could fulfil her marriage vow, 
and could offer other than an imperfect pledge and 
a divided love. 

^•T know not,” said she; these are points which 
I cannot argue with the coolness of an uninterested 
reasoner; but I sincerely trust that this sacrifice of 
my best affections will not be blameable in the sight 
of Heaven. If I cannot love as I could wish, him 
whose lot I shall engage to follow, still I trust I 
shall so fulfil the duties of a wife, that he shall ne- 
ver have cause to reproach me for any want of due 
affection. If my sentiments are erroneous, on my 
head will the misery fall; and I can never lose the 
satisfaction of feeling, that by the sacrifice of my 
own happiness, I have saved my parents from mis- 
fortune. As for Lacy, be his sentiments what they 
may, there remains no course but to forget him.” 

She was mournfully repeating to herself this last 
resolution, when approaching footsteps caught her 
ear. She turned, and Lacy stood before her. The 
ardour of impatient search had flushed his cheek, 
while that of Agnes was pale as death. It was for 
both an agitating moment, and to Lacy scarcely 
less than to Agnes, though he it was that sought 
the interview. He was the first to speak. 

I was told,” said he, in a voice that trembled 
with emotion, ‘‘that you were here, and I came * 
in search of you.” 

“ My father is not here,” replied Agnes, scarce- 
ly knowing what she said, yet feeling with instinc- 
tive delicacy, that she ought not to be the object of 
Lacy’s visit. “lam afraid I cannot tell you where 

he is. Was your visit to him — or ” she could 

not utter the name of Sackville. 

“ It was you, I wished to see,'” said Lacy. “ I 


HERBERT LACY. 


237 


what I will ask now. Is it true?’’ said he, lower- 
ing his voice to a deep earnest whisper; is that 
true which I heard last night!” 

She understood his meaning, though it w'as im- 
perfectly expressed. She trembled with agitation; 
and the words ‘‘ Quite true,” alone escaped her 
lips. 

A distressing silence followed her reply. Each 
was conscious that, in the hurry of the moment, 
they had allowed their tone and manner to express 
too plainly their real feelings;- and Lacy became 
aware that the abruptness of his address could be 
excused on no other ground. 

Pray forgive me,” he said, if I offend you 
— I hardly know what I am saying — I know that 
I owe you an apology. Last night — what must 
you have thought of me ! that under such circum- 
stances, I should have shown so little delicacy as 
to claim your hand ! to lead you out to observation ! 
/too! but he wished it,‘or I should not have pre- 
sumed. It was kindly meant^ — it .was a mark of 
his confidence; for he did not know — But! I am 
wandering; I am going to tell what you should not 
know any more than he — but no matter — disguise 
is impossible — I will tell you all.” 

<^No, Mr. Lacy — no,” exclaimed Agnes, turn- 
ing from him. ‘‘ Tell me nothing, I entreat you; 
I have no wish — no right to know. Remember 
my situation, and respect it. The time is past — 
I cannot — must not hear what you would say.” 

Then you can guess what I would say?” re- 
plied Lacy, eagerly. Yes, I see you understand 
me. You can believe that mine was no unmean- 
ing preference, no heartless, frivolous attention. 
You can believe that, whatever I had been required 
to sacrifice to ensure your happiness, I would” 

‘‘Enough, enough,” cried Agnes. “Yes, I 
can believe it all; but this is no fit subject for us 


238 


HERBERT LACY 


now. Pray leave me, Mr. Lacy. No good can 
come from such a conversatiorj. Go, I entreat you j 
and take with you every wish for your future hap- 
piness that I am permitted to form.’^ 

Lacy walked away a few paces, as if about to 
obey her bidding; then stood irresolute awhile; 
then in another moment had returned, and was 
once more at her side. 

It is not a week,’^ said he, since I met you 
in that house, and was permitted to intimate, if not 
by words, at least by manner, the presumptuous 
expectations which I had formed. I will not blame 
you. Miss Morton, for not having then assumed a 
severity of air which is foreign to the charitableness 
of your disposition. But had I been then repulsed, 
however harshly, I feel that I should have been 
spared much of the pain of this great and unexpect- 
ed blow — nay, Miss Morton — pray hear me — grant 
me this little recompense, though it may be some- 
what irksome. I should have been spared not only 
this terrible surprise, but the consciousness that I 
had incurred the risk of giving pain to the^very 
admirable person to whom you will be united. 
You probably know how much I owe him — indeed 
I remember to have told you — and I can now call 
to mind that you endeavoured to abate what you 
considered the excess of my gratitude. Perhaps 
you thought that I said more than I truly felt — but 
indeed it was not so — and my actions shall now 
prove it; and you shall see that I can look forward 
with calmness and satisfaction to my friend’s hap- 
piness, even when it is attended with the sacrifice 
of my own.” 

His voice faltered slightly, as he pronounced 
these last words, and he stopped for awhile to re- 
gain firmness and composure. Agnes uttered not 
a word; she was very pale; her respiration almost 
ceased; she thought herself on the point of fainting, 
and leaned against a tree for support. 


HERBERT LACY* 


239 


“I have a question,’’ resumed Lacy, one se- 
rious question to ask you, and, if you are at liber- 
ty, I solemnly entreat you to answer it, for you 
will thereby enable me to discharge an act of jus- 
tice. I would ask you,” continued he, lowering 
his voice, which was almost choked with emo- 
tion, ‘‘does Sackville, according to your belief, 
know or even think that I have, however involun- 
tarily, been at any time his rival? It is a bold 
question, but I trust you will forgive it; pray an- 
swer it, if you may.” 

“ I do not believe,” said Agnes, in a voice that 
was scarcely articulate, “ that he has ever thought 
you such.” 

“I am glad of it,” exclaimed Lacy, after a short 
pause; “and may he- never think so. He must 
wish to be my friend, and I would spare him the 
pain of believing that he has unintentionally been 
my enemy. I thought that he perhaps suspected 
what my views had been, and that he had there- 
fore granted me last night the privilege of your 
hand as the highest mark of his confidence. If it 
were so, I thank him for trusting that I should 
never attempt to resist his claims. He shall see 
that his confidence has not been misplaced. I have 
not known him very long; but I can feel and ad- 
mire his superior qualities. But it is useless for 
me to praise him to you. You can appreciate him 
much better than I can. I have been too bold; 
but when the heart is very full — forgive my ab- 
ruptness — I cannot say all I would — :may God bless 
you both — farewell?” 

He turned away as, with a faltering voice, he 
uttered these last words; but felt as if he would 
fain say more, and seemed rooted to the spot, una- 
ble to quit her dangerous presence. 

At this moment, approaching footsteps were 
heard, and before either was conscious of it, Sack- 


240 


HERBERT LACY. 


ville had joined them. A short glance at their 
countenances sufficed to tell him, that an agitating 
interview had taken place, and it was a circum- 
stance calculated to impart no slight agitation to 
the breast of Sackville. But he had great powers 
of self-command; and, smothering all external trace 
of the jealous suspicions which then flashed across 
his mind, he advanced with all the alacrity of 
cheerful friendship to welcome Lacy, who, on be- 
ing greeted, awoke as from a trance. Sackville’s 
calmness seemed to be momentarily imparted to 
hind. He regained his self-possession, repressed 
his emotion, and could reply to the questions and 
rem^ks of his companion with collectedness, and 
apparent ease; while Sackville, offering one arm to 
Agnes, and putting the other within that of Lacy, 
walked between them to the house. 

The conversation, in which Sackville purposely 
relieved them by taking himself the greater share, 
was light and unimportant, and related chiefly to 
the last night’s ball, and the persons present at it. 
At the same time, it was guarded with admirable 
tact from containing any allusion harassing to the 
feelings of Agnes and Lacy. Yet the restraint un- 
der which these feelings were now suppressed was 
in itself acutely painful; and when at length they 
reached the house, Agnes eagerly quitted them, to 
give vent to her sorrows in the solitude of her own 
apartment. 

Agitated, harassed, oppressed as she had been, 
she had not yet shed one tear. But when she 
found herself alone, and free from the restraint of 
others’ presence, she ceased to maintain the dread- 
ful struggle, and wept long and bitterly. At first 
she scarcely knew for what she wept. There was 
one dark mingled tissue of misery, one vague op- 
pressive gloom which gathered around her, and 
seemed to weigh her to the earth; and left her 


HERBERT LACY. 


241 

only an undefined sensation of being inconsolably 
wretched — she was hardly conscious how or why. 
But as her mind grew more composed it awoke to 
the perception of distinct sources of grief. She 
found that the fancied barrier by which she had 
purposed to exclude Lacy from her thoughts had 
vanished since their last meeting, and that, instead 
of being an unmeaning trifler, who cared nor for 
her, and whom it was an act of justice to forget, 
he was one who nourished a sincere attachment^ 
who was keenly wounded by her seeming fickle- 
ness, whom she had cruelly wronged, and whose 
generous conduct had produced for him a still 
greater portion of her admiration. All the con- 
siderations through which she had steeled herself 
to the Sacrifice, had proved ungrounded, and no- 
thing 1 emained to uphold her courage but a stern 
sense of duty. 

We must return to Lacy, whom Agnes left alone 
with Sackville. His situation was rendered less 
trying by her absence; and he had time to call to 
aid his natural strength of mind, and to speak with 
firmness and composure on that which was to him 
the most afflicting of all subjects. Sackville was 
even surprised at the steadiness of his tone; and 
wishing to avoid any thing like an explanation, 
was very willing to lead the conversation to other 
things. But Lacy had no wish to shun the one 
great topic which was uppermost in his mind, and 
voluntarily offered his congratulations. 

• ^‘Sackville,’’ said he, ‘‘ I have reason to be very 
grateful to you, and I should have a bad opinion of 
myself if I did not wish 3 ^Du every earthly happi- 
ness. I think you have made such a choice as can 
hardly fail to ensure it. It may perhaps be pre- 
sumptuous for me to praise Miss Morton,' short as 
my acquaintance with her has been; but so much as 
this I will say: May you both ever contribute to 
VoL I. ' 21 


242 


HERBERT LACY. 


each other’s happiness!’’ and he wrung his com- 
panion’s hand, and left him. 

Sackville, during this last interview, had been 
touched with a momentary compunction. There is 
no magnet, which attracts oUr sympathy more pow- 
erfully than generosity; and the brightness of this 
trait in Lacy, had penetrated even to the cold obdu- 
rate heart of Sackville. And yet he well knew be- 
forehand this property of his friend’s disposition, 
and had deliberately planned to turn his very vir- 
tues into arms that should operate against him. He 
had calculated with detestable subtilty, the hold 
which a former act of preservation would give him 
over his grateful heart; and he hoped to bind the 
tie still stronger, by studied friendliness of manner, 
and early confidence on the subject of his engage- 
ment. Sackville had not, like many bad men, a 
disbelief in the virtue of others. He could accu- 
rately foresee the virtuous line of conduct wdiich 
they would take; but he viewed it coolly and spe- 
culatively, as the result of a certain temperament, 
or disposition of character, not much more admira- 
ble, or intrinsically moral, than their devotion to 
any one pursuit, and almost equally resolvable into 
whim. Yet in spite of this callousness of feeling, 
he could not but be somewhat moved by the gene- 
rosity of his much injured rival; and he felt for a 
while, that inward pang, which comes ever and 
anon to shake the triumph even of successful guilt. 



BY 


THE AUTHOR OF GRANBY. 



La morale est la science des sciences ^ ne la consid^rer que 
sous le rapport du calcul; et il y a toujours des limites ^ I’esprit 
de ceux qui n’ont pas. senti I’harmonie de la nature des choses 
avec les devoirs de I’homme. 

Madame De Stael. 


VOL. IL 


PHILADELPHIA: 

CAREY, LEA & CAREY — CHESNUT STREET. 

SOLD IN NEW YORK, BY G. & C. CARVILL, — IN BOSTON, BY 
HILLIARD, GRAY, & CO., AND RICHARDSON & LORD. 


1828 . 






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HERBERT EACY 


CHAPTER I. 


Suspicions among thoughts, are like bats among birds; they 


ever fly by twilight 


Bacon. 


Lacy repaired from these trying scenes, to the 
still remaining painful task of acquainting his fa- 
ther with the sudden downfal of his hopes. The 
expression of his countenance, as he entered the 
room, sufficiently prepared Sir William for the evil 
tidings that were to follow. 

Where have you been said the latter, look' 
ing anxiously at his son. 

‘‘To Dodswell,^^ replied Herbert; and then, 
without further preface, in a few simple words, he 
described the discovery of the preceding night, 
and the interview which he had undergone that 
morning. 

“ It is a strange affair,” said the Baronet, when 
his son had finished his painful recital, “ and I 
cannot understand it. It is but a week, Herbert, 
since I saw you both together: I could then have 
sworn that she felt a preference for you; and if 
this was not the case, and my old judgment is de- 


4 


HERBERT LACY. 


ceived by modern manners, still I must think her 
more deficient in discernment, than the very weak- 
est of her sex, not to perceive that you betrayed 
a more than common admiration for her; yet ne- 
ver could I see, that she repelled or received your 
attentions coldly— no, not even in the presence of 
Sackville; nor did he seem jealous, or uneasy. — 
And yet, under the circumstances, what else could 
have been expected? I cannot understand it, Her- 
bert: but answer me one thing — do you believe that 
she is really attached to Sackville 

have seen no symptoms of attachment,’’ re- 
plied Herbert; indeed, all that I have seen and 
heard, except this startling fact of their actual en- 
gagement, leads me to conclude the contrary. I 
can remember, that once’ at Huntley, she spoke of 
him rather coldly — could that be artifice ? No ! 
no, she is superior to artifice. Yet that was scarce 
two months since, and surely betokened nothing 
like increasing attachment. In fact, both at the 
ball, and this morning, she seemed unhappy — 
deeply so, as if there were something on her mind. 
It is a mystery, quite a mystery; I cannot under- 
stand it.” 

Both were silent for a while, and seemed to be 
pondering on the peculiarities of the case. Sir 
William was the first to speak. I do not pre- 
tend,” said he to solve the mystery completely, 
but I cannot stifle my suspicions. There has been 
some trick, some juggle. She has been sacrificed 
to Sackville.” 

Good heavens. Sir! — but how? and why ?” 

Nay, I know no more than you. I judge only 
from your description, and from what I observed 
of her manner last week. I cannot help thinking 
that the poor girl has been driven into this match, 
against her will. She is a wealthy prize, and Sack- 
ville is one of her trustees, and he must know, that 


HERBERT LACY. 5 

she is well worth winning, be she attached to him 
or not/^ 

‘‘It is just possible,” said Herbert; “but I 
should be unwilling to think, that Sackville would 
lend himself to suSi a transaction.” 

“ So should I, Herbert, and though your opin- 
ion may be false, I like to hear you express it. 
A proneness to suspicion is least commendable in 
a young man; and I am glad to see that you have 
no disposition, to think worse of others than you 
can help. Sackville has been, on one occasion, 
a valuable friend to you; and I shall ever hope for 
an opportunity of showing him the gratitude that 
a father ought to feel. Perhaps I have betrayed a 
want of this, in allowing myself to entertain in- 
jurious suspicions of him; but remember that I have 
received no pledge of his virtues except your 
praise, and that^ when your affections are prepos- 
sessed is apt to be somewhat lavishly bestowed. 
But we will not pursue this subject. It only gives 
you needless pain; and our speculations upon it 
are utterly unavailing. Miss Morton, whether 
willingly or not, has engaged to give her hand to 
another, and it is not for us to interfere. I wish 
I could give you any comfort or assistance. I 
believe silence is the best balm;" and let me assure 
you, my dear Herbert, that I will never hencefor- 
ward wound you, by wantonly dragging forth 
your disappointment as a subject for my discus- 
sion : but, at the same time believe me when I say 
that my ears, will always be open to the slightest 
syllable, you may choose to utter. 

Here the subject was dropped, and, as it seem- 
ed to both parties, was never again to be resumed. 
Sir Willian Lacy, though he felt compassion for 
the afflictions of his son, was not eventually sorry 
to see him precluded from forming a connection 
which he had so many reasons for disliking; and 
1 * 


G HERBERT LACr* 

notwithstanding the opposite tendency of his just 
suspicions, he chose to take it for granted that Miss 
Morton was irrevocably lost to Herbert. Nor 
did Herbert himself think otherwise; for even 
when he admitted the tempti*ig supposition that 
Agnes might, by possibility, secretly prefer him 
to Sackville, and that a trifling exertion on his 
part wmuld enable him to supplant his rival, still 
he recoiled with generous firmness from such a 
plan when he reflected that this rival was the man 
to whose prompt exertions he had owed his life. 

About a fortnight now elapsed without any fur- 
ther communication between the families at Lacy 
and Dodswell: nor did any tidings reach the for- 
mer respecting the Mortons, or any of their con- 
nections, except an announcement which the baro- 
net made one morning to his son, that Lord Rod- 
borough, as he was informed, in a note from Al- 
len, had concluded the purchase of the Bloxwich 
estate. Here is the note,’’ said the Baronet; 
and Herbert took it and read it through. 

There is one part,” said he, ‘‘which I don’t 
understand; ‘I am glad that my hint was not 
thrown away. ’ What does he refer to 

“ Heaven knows,” said the baronet, carelessly; 
“ I hope it was that I should burn his letter, for I 
certainly did it — half read. Come, Herbert, don’t 
put on that long expostulating face— I know what 
you mean — and if I was not exempted, jure pa- 
terno, you would read me a lecture on careless- 
ness in matters of business; but it would be of no 
use— -it would not convert me — I hate your preci- 
sions in petty affairs.” 

Not long after the time when this conversation 
took place, a meeting was convened at the County 

Hall, at , for the purpose of petitioning 

parliament for the speedy abolition of slavery. 
Sir William, who had been reading a good deal on 


HERBERT LACY. 


7 


that subject, had warmed himself, by a course of 
pamphlets, into a strong feeling of interest; and 
Herbert, who let slip no opportunity of drawing 
his father from his retirement, and inducing him 
to associate more freely with his neighbours, glad- 
ly took .advantage of the present bias of his mind 
to engage him to attend the meeting. They accor- 
dingly wentj and Herbert, who was solicitous to 
wean himself from his own distresses, by fixing his 
attention upon other objects, would have received 
much gratification from its proceedings, had not 
the consciousness of one circumstance, of a differ- 
ent nature, soon become painfully obtrusive. 
Once before, at a general muster of the gentlemen 
of the county, Herbert had been pained observ- 
ing the very little consideration in which his fii- 
ther seemed to be held. Remembering, this, he 
was, in the present instance, rather curious to see 
whether any improvement manifested itself in the 
cordiality with which he was received by his 
neighbours: but he saw, to his sorrow, that their 
general demeanor was, by no means, more favour- 
able, and that there were now instances of actual 
avoidance which amounted almost to rudeness, 
and even in the very persons who had formerly 
shown some degree of courtesy. 

Mr. Morton, in particular, guardedly abstained, 
throughout the meeting, from exchanging a word 
or even look, with Sir William Lacy or his son. 
Herbert was a good deal hurt at this, though he 
could easily conceive that the susceptible temper 
of Mr. Morton might have discovered some ground 
of offence which would awaken his former grudge: 
the cause however, of a similar coldness in others, 
was utterly beyond his comprehension. It was a 
subject in which delicacy forbad him to make any 
observations to his father, who was evidently cha- 
grined at the reception he had experienced; and 


8 


HERBERT LACY. 


though he endeavoured to laugh it off in a vein of 
caustic pleasantry, was, in reality deeply morti- 
fied. 

The treatment which he had received rendered 
him still more averse to society; the neighbourhood 
became hateful to him; every man, in Sir William^s 
imagination, seemed to be his enemy; and with a 
morose stubbornness of determination, which in 
him was unusual, he refused to appear, or admit 
any visiters to his house, during the great annual 
assemblage of the principal families of the county, 
at the Henbury races, which were to take place in 
a few days. His refusal was the more extraordi- 
nary, and was the more strenuously combatted by 
Lady Lacy, because their son-in-law, Charles Hart- 
ley, was to be one of the stewards — the other stew 
ard was Lord Malvern. 


HERBERT LACY. 


9 


CHAPTER II. 


Strange though it seem— yet, with extremest grief 
Is link’d a mirth — it doth not bring relief — 

That playfulness, of sorrow ne’er beguiles. 

And smiles in bitterness — ^but still it smiles. 

• Byron. 


At length the first day of the races arrived. 
Hartley, whose office obliged him to be on the spot, 
was staying in Henbury with his wife and sister ; 
and on the morning of the first day, Lady Lacy 
and Herbert went with them, and some other 
friends, to the course. 

England presents few more animating or cha- 
racteristic spectacles than that truly national one, a 
race-course. What a medley of objects does it com- 
prise! The neat light stand; the tent-like booths; 
the grotesque shapes of caravans, with their broad 
display of painted canvass, well peopled with gla- 
ring monsters; the high and ever moving swings; 
the carriages of every form, hiie, and denomina- 
tion, from the coroneted coach* and six to the hum- 
ble donkey-cart, or the’ uncouth wagon, with its 
twenty insides — while the formal barricades which 
line the course, crown with an air of order the 
seeming irregularity of the whole. 

But how great is the addition to this cozij? d^oeil, 
if we take some note of the animated objects that 
fill the picture ! The bright array of figures, gleam- 
ing from the balcony of the stand — the humbler 
throng that move below — the horsemen and their 


10 HERBERT LACY. 

steecis— the miscellaneous concourse of pedestrians 
— motley coloured tumblers — honest blue-stock- 
inged countrymen, in grey or russet — the liveried 
figures dispersed among the mass, and contrasting 
their gay dresses with the coarser habiliments of 
the mob. Nor must we forget the recruiting par- 
ty, which seldom fails to swell the crowd — the 
drum and fife, and stately sergeant at the head — 
and a long train of ill-starred youths, with colours 
in their hats, trying to assume a martial strut, though 
looking half repentant of their bargain. 

But what is the pictorial pleasure arising from 
such, a scene, compared with the interest of that 
event, which seems at once to fill every head and 
strain every eye, whether of the youthful beauty 
in the stand, or the grave, cool hlacMeg above 
stairs. 

The' countless throng are about to be repaid for 
a long period of expectation: a bell has been heard 
— ^thejr are saddling the horses — in a few minutes, 
two appear, and gallop towards the stand. The 
race must be begun — ^no — they are soon pulled in, 
and walked back — ^and then two more appear in 
sight — and then another — and still another, and 
are similarly paraded before the spectators; while 
cards are studied with increased attention, and blue, 
and red, and buff, and orange, assigned to their re- 
spective owners. Then, one by one, they all walk 
back — and, at some distance from the stand, a crowd 
appears to be forming itself ; and horsemen flock 
in eager haste from various points to this one quar- 
ter. Then expectation begins to be more strongly 
painted in every face, and there is an increased 
stillness in the crowd. Then again, a bell is sound- 
ed, and is followed by a stillness deeper than be- 
fore. Then, all at once is heard on every side a 
low murmur; one single sentence bursts simultane- 
ously from the assembled multitude; and ‘‘ They 


HERBERT LACY. 


11 


are off!^’ is exclaimed at the same instant by a 
thousand tongues. The crowd divides, and six 
horses sweep in line from the distance-post towards 
the stand. 

The equality is not long preserved — ^before two 
hundred yards are traversed, one is far ahead — 
the two next run almost abreast; then follow the 
others successively: and the favourite is last but 
one. Soon the leading horse begins to slacken his 
speed, and the three first are close together — the 
struggle is now between these; and the vaunted 
favourite succeeds only in passing the fourth. 
But every instant, the aspect of the race is altered. 
The horse which led, is now third ; and the contest 
for pre-eminence is confined to two. More than 
half the course is traversed — the two first are far 
ahead — -and the favourite only abreast of the third 
horse. He cannot win. ’Tis the two first 
against the field^’ for any odds. And now you 
may ofier to name the winner, for one of the two 
is a length ahead, while the favourite is third, and 
several yards behind the second. They approach 
the distance post, and the race is still between 
those two — no — one has failed completely, and 
has dropped at once, not only far behind the first 
but even behind the favourite also. 

And now the latter is perceived to gain gradu- 
ally on the first horse — he is three lengths behind 
—two — one — and now, you say he has a chance 
— but, no — he does not seem to gain any longer 
upon the other, whose rider, dressed in yellow, 
whips hard and keeps his station. The rider of 
the favourite does not whip— he seems to be pull- 
ing in — perhaps he knows that he must lose — it is 
but thirty yards to the winning chair. A shout is 
heard of yellow wins!’’ and “ blue for a thou- 
sand!” and the roar is tremendous, and “ blue, 
blue!” is the prevailing cry. 


12 


HERBERT LACY. 


In another second, all is decided — blue all at 
once lets out his horse — the effect is instantaneous 
— he passes the other like a shot, within a few 
yards of the winning chair — ‘‘ blue,’^ is shouted 
louder than ever, and all is lively exclamation; and. 
your excited feelings (if a novice) are not cooled 
till, on turning, with loud commendations on the 
excellent race, to the experienced man of the turf 
at your elbow, you are told, with a quiet smile, 
that it was a hollow thing from the first; that the 
yellow never had a chance; and that blue held in 
all the time, and might have won by half a dis- 
tance. 

Such was the scene which was presented on the 
Henbury race-course on the first day, when Her- 
bert Lacy attended the stand. Our description of 
it is not such as would have come from him; but 
is rather that of a novice, much amused, and strict- 
ly attentive to the peculiarities of the scene before 
him. But, in Herbert’s case, feelings of another 
kind now filled his thoughts, and prevented him 
from experiencing that lively interest which he 
generally took in all that was passing around him. 
He knew it was probable that he might here again 
meet Agnes; and though he had no doubts with 
respect to the line of conduct which he ought to 
take, he felt that it would be. difficult to assume 
the unembarrassed cheerfulness of mere acquain- 
tanceship. 

Agnes was almost the first person he saw, as he 
entered the stand with Charlotte Hartley hanging 
on his arm. The reports of their supposed en- 
gagement had never reached him, or this circum- 
stance would have given him some uneasiness. 
Agnes was at that time sitting rather remote from 
him, surrounded by persons, most of whom he 
knew only by name; and as Herbert, however anx- 
ious to accost her, was careful to avoid all approach 


HERBERT LACY. 


13 , 


io familiarity of manner, he first addressed himself 
to such acquaintance as lay more immediately in 
his way. 

Having gone through the necessary course of 
greetings, with persons whom he was neither glad 
nor sorry to see, he gradually moved towards that 
quarter of the room where iVgnes was sitting. 
When he first entered, she had been grave; but 
now he found her in lively spirits, talking, as it 
appeared, gaily and amusingly to those around her. 

This was not quite what he expected, and he 
was rather disturbed at its want of harmony with 
the state of his own feelings. He did not wish 
her to betray to the world her sense of the pecu- 
liarity of their situation: but as she knew what he 
had suffered on her account, he thought that in his 
presence she need not have been quite so cheerful. 
In this reproachful mood did he advance to speak 
to her, striving, in bitterness of heart, to mould 
his features into the same air of cheerfulness, and 
hoping that he should at least be rewarded by a 
cordial address. 

But Agnes was in no haste to notice him. Her 
whole mind at that moment seemed to be engaged 
in the formation of a lottery, and she was trying 
to obtain a pair of scissars to cut up a card. 

Who will befriend me said she, looking 
round as Lacy drew near; “ I know I must apply 
to a gentleman — no lady carries any thing half so 
useful. Mr. Luscombe — oh, thank you — what an 
excellent friend you are! You are like the man 
in Peter Schlemihl, with the inexaustible pockets 
— don’t bow, for it is not a compliment. Thank 
you, Mr. Lacy, they are quite well. Who is our 
treasurer ? — My father is not here this morning. — 
Are Sir William and Lady Lacy here? — Now, Mr. 
Sedley, you may draw.” 

VoL. II. 


2 


14 


HERBERT LACY. 


And then, without bestowing another look on 
Lacy, she went on with lively conversation, to her 
other acquaintance, about the arrangements of their 
lottery. 

Lacy was surprised and mortified. A sense of 
the awkwardness of his situation, added, perhaps, 
not a little to his distress. He had introduced him- 
self, for the sake of accosting her into the centre 
of a large group of persons, whom, with the ex- 
ception of Luscombe, he did not know; and when 
she refused to attend to him, he had no longer any 
one to address. He stood for a short time, a silent 
spectator of their proceedings, and then, feeling 
himself an intruder in the circle, he turned round 
and walked away. He retired with no enviable 
feelings. He entertained for the moment, strong 
displeasure against Agnes, the stronger, perhaps, 
from the ardency of his attachment; for a slight 
wounds more severely, in proportion to our regard 
for the person that offers it. 

But this sentiment was soon changed into vexa- 
tion at his own behaviour. Why so imprudently 
eager to address her ? Why introduce himself in- 
to a group of persons, amongst whom she alone 
could be the object of his attention ? Was this his 
delicacy ? This his caution ? Would his avoi- 
dance have offended her, or argued indifference ? 
No, she would acknowledge the propriety of his 
course; and there had passed that at there last 
meeting, which no trifling omission of common- 
place ceremony, could cause her to forget. All 
this he could admit; but still he was offended at 
her liveliness of manner. It might, it was true, 
be assumed; but still, why to such excess ? Alas! 
he did not reflect, that it was no easy task for 
Agnes to regulate the display of her fictitious gaie- 
ty* 


HERBERT LACY- 


15 


Plunged in these harassing ruminations, he stood 
apparently listless and unobservant in the midst of 
the cheerful scene around him. He tried at length 
to arouse himself to the enjoyment of the present 
moment. He succeeded in personating the calm 
observer; heard the buz of conversation, and could 
catch such imperfect scraps as the following. 

‘^Mr. Sackville — Miss Morton — engaged long 
before she came out.’’ — Hartley, what did you 
do at Doncaster ?” — I did not do^ I was done ’’ — 
^^How d’ye do. Lady Appleby?” — Quite well, 
thank you — particularly sorry — quite delighted — 
so much obliged.” — ‘^Good races. Lord Apple- 
by.” — “Why — a — yes — but, between ourselves, 
I — ” — ‘‘'Who is that?” — “I must ask Mrs. 
Poole.” — “That? oh, his name is” — (inaudible) 
— “ Rich ?” — “ Very, his father kept a lottery-of- 
fice — one must not inquire how money comes or 
goes either, in these sort of places.” — “Mr. Lus- 
combe, might I beg.” — “ Too happy — ^pray allow 
me.” — “ Midhurst, what did you kill on the 
moors ?” — “ Forty brace of grouse, and a setter.” 
— “Pretty.” — “Paints.” — “Must be natural.” — 
“ No, I assure you — rouges slily — ‘ blooms un- 
seen,’ as the poet says.” — “ What have you 
drawn?” — “Lord Rodborough’s Artaxomines.” 
— “Been drawn already — does not run.” — “Tell 
me — do — what is a handicap ?” — “ A handicap, 

Miss Tyrwhitt? oh, a handicap is ” — “I am 

sorry to hear it — should be careful — might have 
been distanced.” — “Party from Westcourt.” — 
“ Seven to four.” — “ Marriage talked of.” — 
“ Birds wild.” — Candlelight beauty ” — “ Ordina- 
ry before dusk.” 

Dissatisfied with all about him, Lacy strove to 
beguile the irksomeness of the time by change of 
scene; and soon quitted the stand for the winning 


16 


HERBERT LACY. 


chair, where, amongst others, he found the stew- 
ards, his brother-in-law, and Lord Malvern, — 

L’ Allegro,’’ and II Penseroso,” as they had 
been not unaptly named. Hartley was, as usual, 
all life and good humour, and would soon have 
raised the spirits of Lacy, almost to their customary 
level, had not the cold and distant manner of Lord 
Malvern rather pained and surprised him. Lord 
Malvern had much natural reserve; but with Lacy, 
whom he seemed to like, he had been accustomed 
to throw it oflf ; and his altered behaviour in the 
present instance, was consequently calculated to 
cause the latter some uneasiness. 

Another circumstance occurred, at the same 
time, which, though slight, made rather a strong 
impression on Lacy. While in the steward’s stand, 
he saw Mr. Morton crossing the course, as if with 
the intention of coming there also. When he was 
close to it. Lord Malvern who was leaning over, 
spoke to him, and Lacy understood him to answer, 
that he was coming to join their party. Mr. Mor- 
ton was at the foot of the steps, when Lacy sud- 
denly changed his position, and as the former look- 
ed up, their eyes met. At that instant, Mr. Mor- 
ton seemed to Lacy to check himself; turned his 
head quickly in another direction ; looked up and 
down the line of carriages, as if searching for some- 
body; and then, all at once, as if having found the 
object of his search, walked hastily away. 

Lacy followed him with his eyes, and perceived, 
;that instead of going in the direction in which he 
seemed to look, he returned again, after taking a 
circuitous route, to the stand. There was little in 
his conduct, that would have excited observation, 
had not Lacy been predisposed to attach an interest 
and importance to all his movements. Lord MaL 
vern and Hartley, neither of them made any re-? 


HERBERT LACY. 


17 


mark; no more did Lacy: but he thought much, 
and inferred that Mr. Morton had been studying 
to avoid him, which opinion contributed not a lit- 
tle to swell the aggregate of painful feelings which 
that morning had produced. 


18 


HERBERT LACF. 


CHAPTER in. 


Beware 

Of entrance to a quarrel; but being in, 

Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee. 

Hamlet. 

After quitting the course, Lacy repaired to the 
ordinary, and from thence, after two or three hours 
of forced joviality, he gladly proceeded to the 
ball. This ball was a great event in the county, 
and usually produced a numerous assemblage of 
the country families, for many miles round. It 
was generally pronounced to be well attended, 
and it was so on the present occasion. The Rodbo- 
roughs had lent all their consequence to dignify 
Lord Malvern’s stewardship; and Hartley, though 
little supported, either by his own or his wife’s rela- 
tions, had, by dint of activity, and bis own popu- 
larity, secured a considerable attendance of his par- 
ticular acquaintance; and had especially deserved 
the thanks of the chaperons for bringing so large 
a number of young men. Herbert went to the ball 
as one of Hartley’s party; and, as might have been 
expected, the two stewards, with their immediate 
friends, were among the first arrivals. 

A large room, ill filled, is always a melancholy 
sight; and such was this when Lacy entered it. — 
It contained scarcely any but Lord Malvern’s par- 
ty, who were in a group together at the further 
end, and comprised, in addition to many others, 


HERBERT LACY. 


19 


Lord and Lady Rodborough, the Ladies Sedley, 
Lady Malvern, Sackville, Agnes Morton, and her 
father. Hartley, who preceded the others, had 
already, when Lacy came in, paid his respects to 
this assemblage, and had now returned to his own 
set, which formed a corresponding group at the 
other end of the room. 

The Rodborough family were not eminently 
popular. They had the reputation, among their 
country neighbours, of being fine and fastidious, 
which was true of all except Lord Malvern, whose 
cold, reserved habits, nevertheless, caused him to 
be unjustly charged with the greatest proportion 
of this failing. The Hartleys’ party, therefore, 
though bearing no ill-will towards the Rodbo- 
roughs, did not feel inclined to traverse the whole 
extent of a long room for the purpose of accosting 
persons from whom they were by no means secure 
of a cordial reception. The same feeling, in some 
degree, withheld Lacy, who, though he might no 
longer seek the society of Agnes, and could take 
no pleasure in that of Sackville, would not so long 
have held back had it not been for the unpleasant 
doubts conveyed to his mind by the manner of 
I.iord Malvern and Mr. Morton towards him that 
morning. It was, therefore, natural that he should 
slirink from approaching a circle in which his re- 
ception was so doubtful, and in which at any rate, 
the presence of Agnes must awaken agitating 
thoughts. 

By degrees, however, the room began to fill — 
the formidable blanks were lessened, and on Hart- 
ley moving upwards to concert measures for a com- 
mencement with his fellow-steward, and to claim, 
in his official capacity, the hand of Lady Mary 
Sedley, Herbert availed himself of this arrange- 
ment to enter the circle, and go through hjs course 
of recognitions. 


20 


HERBERT LACY. 


The result was not encouraging. Lord Rodbo- 
rough was cold and distant; Lady Rodborough, 
though not uncivil, seemed less disposed to talk to 
him than she had been at her own ball; Lady Mal- 
vern, with whom he had become well acquainted 
at Huntley, now treated him as a comparative 
stranger. Sackville, though perfectly friendly in 
his manner, was too much engaged in talking to 
others to give him much of his attention. Mr. 
Morton appeared to be manoeuvring to avoid him, 
and acknowledged him only with a grave bow; 
and Lacy had the additional pain of observing that 
the countenance of Agnes, which had been in some 
degree animated till his approach, was then sud- 
denly chilled into reserve. 

Thus met, he soon withdrew in mortification 
and disgust. For the coldness of the Rodbo- 
roughs he cared little; but the astrangement of the 
Mortons gave him much concern, and he would 
gladly have pressed for an explanation of its cause, 
had not feelings, w^hich can easily be imagined al- 
ways prevented him whenever that wish arose. 
He tried to dismiss them from his thoughts, and 
resolved in a moment of pique, not only to devote 
liimself exclusively to others, but to let them see 
that it was not in the power of their caprice to 
check the flow of his gaiety. The principle of 
reaction is very visible in the operation of the 
mind; and, after the depression which Lacy had 
endured, when he came to assume a contrary tone, 
his excited spirits vented themselves in an excess 
of mirthfulness ; and his air and conversations 
which were usually animated, now became lively 
in an inc^reased degree. He felt no real exhilara- 
tion: it was but a feverish excitement, which, on 
subsiding, would again leave him in depression. 
Nor was it easy gaiety: it had in it a degree of 
recklessness, which, in a private circle, would 


HERBERT LACY. 


21 


have been soon observed ; but, in a crowded ball- 
room, these nice shades were less distinguishable, 
and it easily passed for the genuine effervescence 
of lightened spirits. Never had he been so lavish 
of attentions to Miss Hartley; and instead of being 
indifferent and abstracted, as at the ball at West- 
court, he was now cheerful and attentive, and ex- 
erted himself for her entertainment. 

Miss Hartley, who was really very pretty, and 
looked particularly well upon this occasion, seemed 
a very natural and deserving object of his homage; 
and many were indur.ed to believe that Herbert 
was paying serious court to her, especially as 
Lady Lacy, who was highly delighted with her 
son’s conduct, though she indeed refrained from 
saying any thing, contrived to look a great deal. 
The consequence was, that the report of Herbert’s 
attachment to Miss Hartley, which before had 
been gently whispered, now received strong con- 
firmation, and began to be very confidently men- 
tioned by the various retailers of gossip. 

On the following morning, the second and last 
day of the races, Lacy looked in vain for Agnes 
at the stand: neither did he meet with Mr. Mor- 
ton, nor did any circumstance occur which tended 
to produce a change in his feelings. Lord Mal- 
vern still preserved the same unsocial coldness, 
and Lacy felt too proud and indignant to endeav- 
our to remove it. 

At length the sports of the course were termina- 
ted, and the gentlemen repaired to the noisy dis- 
comfort of a race ordinary, to partake of a bad 
dinner, and worse wine; and to endure afterwards 
a weary hour of tumultuous absurdity, the little 
conversational merriment which any of them could 
enjoy, being repeatedly checked by a vehement 
thumping on the table, the precursor of some 
hacknied toast, which had been handed down 


22 


HERBERT LACY. 


from race to race, and doomed, by prescriptive 
right to be hailed with the idle clamour of three 
times three. 

Mr. Morton was present at this dinner, and 
though he sat at no great distance from Lacy, on 
the other side of the table, abstained from all signs 
of recognition. Lacy, who was unwilling to 
think that he had given him any just cause of of- 
fence, and felt that perhaps his own manner might 
have conveyed a false impression of unfriendliness, 
determined not to omit any opportunity of arriv- 
ing at a better understanding. The obvious at- 
tention of asking Mr. Morton to drink wine with 
him, he thought might possibly afford an opening 
for some resumption of civility. For some time 
he vainly endeavoured to catch his eye, or make 
him hear the invitation, and failing in this was 
obliged to have recourse to the surer method of 
sending round his message by a servant. To this 
message he received the singular answer that 
Mr. Morton had lately drank wine with another 
person, and begged to be excused; and Lacy was left 
in little doubt as to the existence of actual ill-will. 

The dinner was ended ; the wine had circulated : 
the muster-roll of toasts had at length been expen- 
ded; the members for the county, and the members 
for the borough; the gentlemen who had sent their 
horses, and the owners of those that had won; the 
present stewards, and the stewards elect, had sev- 
erally received their compliment, and returned 
their thanks; the steward had left the chair: the 
company had risen, and some were departing, and 
some were assembling in little knots in various 
parts of the room. By degrees the party grew 
thinner and thinner, till few were left except the 
immediate friends of the two stewards. Lacy and 
Hartley went out to give some orders, and in a 
few minutes returned. 


HERBERT LACY. 


23 


As they entered, Mr. Morton was standing 
with his hack towards them, at a little distance 
from the door, engaged in conversation with ano- 
ther gentleman, and Lacy could not avoid hearing 
distinctly a good deal of what they said, ‘‘ Sneak- 
ing policy — dirty proceeding,’^ were the first 
words which caught his ear. Then Mr. Morton’s 
companion said something that was not audible, 
and Mr. Morton afterwards proceeded in rather a 
loud and angry tone — 

‘^One cannot call such a man a gentleman. I 
never knew a more paltry method of currying fa- 
vour — think of a person in his situation concealing 
his knowledge of a defective title! — making a 
merit of resigning the first refusal of an estate which 
he had been privately informed was not saleable! 
Pitiful, truly pitiful!” 

Here he was checked by his companion, whose 
face was turned towards Lacy; and who, seeing 
him, said to Mr. Morton, in a low tone, ‘‘ The 
son will hear you.” 

don’t care if he does,” replied Morton, 
whose natural irratibility seemed to have been 
rather inflamed by wine, am not ashamed of 
what I am saying; and I will repeat, be he present 
or not, that Sir William Lacy was privately in- 
formed that the Bloxwich property was not salea- 
ble, before he made a merit of letting Lord Rod- 
borough buy it.” 

Lacy heard every syllable of this charge, and so 
also did Hartley, who took him by the arm, and 
seemed desirous of leading him onward; but Lacy 
resisted, and evinced an intention of going towards 
Mr. Morton. 

Never mind him,” whispered Hartley fearful 
of some explosion. 

must,” replied Lacy; ‘‘ he has made an as- 
sertion that must not pass uncontradicted. ” 


24 


herbeat lacy. 


<< But he is half drunk, or he would not have 
said it.” 

‘‘ It matters not, he has said it; and whatever 
may be his state now, he formed the opinion in 
sober earnest,” and, so saying, he broke from the 
grasp of his brother-in-law, and walked straight 
towards Mr. Morton, who drew himself up, on 
seeing him approach, into an attitude of proud de- 
fiance. 

Mr. Morton,” said Lacy, in a steady tone, 

I could not avoid overhearing your reflections on 
my father, and I think it right to tell you that you 
have been misinformed.” 

Misinformed, Sir!” repeated Mr. Morton, 
with a sneer. ‘‘You might have used a shorter 
word — you might have told me that I lied: that 
was your meaning, I suppose.’^ 

“My meaning. Sir,” replied Lacy, “was to 
vindicate my father; and the words which I used, 
were such as I thought would be least ofiensive.” 

“ I am greatly beholden to you for your consi- 
deration; but you need not have beaten about the 
bush. I spoke plainly, and so might you. I hate 
all double dealing; and if you thought my asser- 
tion false, you might have told me so at once.” 

“ Then I will tell you,” replied Lacy, “ I do 
think your assertion false. I have that confidence 
in my father’s honour, that I can never allow my- 
self to believe that he has acted as you would in- 
sinuate. ” 

“ Insinuate, Sir! I assert it — but I won’t stay 
to bandy explanations with a person that has given 
me the lie. After that, there is only one fit an- 
swer; and that is, to call for satisfaction.” 

“ I will talk to you no longer,” replied Lacy 
turning from him, “while you are in this intem- 
perate state.” 

“Intemperate! Insolence! I think. Sir, you 


HERBERT LACY. 


25 


had already insulted me enough, without presuming 
to hint that I was drunk: but you shall hear more 
from me. This shall not end here. 

It is not my intention that it should,’’ replied 
Lacy. ‘‘You have made assertions which I deny: 
the truth of that denial I will establish. The vin- 
dication of my father shall be complete; and for 
that end will we meet again.” And so saying, 
Lacy turned round, and suddenly walked from him 
out of the room. 

Hartley who had stood near, an astonished witness 
of the past scene, quickly followed and soon came 
up to him, and they walked together towards their 
lodging, for some moments in silence. 

Hartley was the first to speak. . 

“Well, Herbert,” said he, with a sigh, as if 
he had only then begun to breathe freely, “the 
gauntlet is thrown down, with a vengeance.” 

Lacy made no answer. 

“I am sorry for it,” pursued Hartley; “these 
things are very unpleasant. How could he speak 
as he did of your father! It was quite proper to 
contradict him ; but I am sorry the affair has turn- 
ed out as it has. I don’t think he was quite him- 
self. Perhaps it would have been better not to 
have spoken to him just then.” 

“No, Hartley,” replied Lacy, “I cannot agree 
with you. Every minute that his assertion re- 
mained uncontradicted in my hearing, would have 
added fresh weight to the calumny. The denial of 
the charge must spring instantly from the genuine 
impulse of an honest conviction, or it can be of no 
avail. A contrary line of conduct would have ar- 
gued a degree of timid caution, which I should 
have considered a compromise of my father’s cha- 
racter.” 

Well, well, I believe you are right; but I still 

VoL. II. 3 


26 


HERBERT EACT. 


wish that every thing could have been explained 
without a quarrel/^ 

He was going to have added more, when Lacy 
laid his hand upon his arm with an air of reproof, 
which silenced him. 

‘‘Hartley — spare me this,’^ said he: “you can- 
not enter into all my feelings; you cannot know 
how much I have sacrificed to a sense of duty, and 
what it has cost me to engage in a quarrel with Mr. 
Morton.’^ 

No immediate reply was made; but, after a few 
minutes’ silence. Hartley added, in a low tone, 
with a stronger pressure of his companion’s arm — 

“ Forget my remarks, and forgive them. They 
were ill-timed, to say the least of them. You have 
a friend in me that will stand by you, happen what 
may — you understand me — you may want a se- 
cond — though God forbid it should come to that.”* 

Lacy thanked him for the offer, and asked him 
to be the bearer of a letter; talked with him for a 
few minutes on the circumstances of the case ; en- 
joined secrecy, that the quarrel might, if possible, 
be prevented from reaching the ears of his rela- 
tions; and then desired to be left alone to the ex- 
ercise of his own reflections. 

And sad and troubled were those reflections; and 
dreadful was the view they opened. The parent 
of Agnes Morton was the public calumniator of 
his father! The former circumstance he must en- 
deavour to forget; he must view him only in the 
latter capacity. And how to redress his father’s 
wrongs? — this was the only question which a son 
should ask; and he did ask it to himself, in firm- 
ness and sincerity of spirit, and it directed him to 
a line of conduct which should uphold his father’s 
cause without closing the door on reconciliation. — 
He saw that something decisive must instantly be 
done; that the imputations had long been secretly 


HERBERT LACY. 


27 


laid, and had gained credit among their neighbours. 
Their recent coldness sufficiently proved it; and as 
Sir William w^s unfortunately little known, and 
had engaged no favourable prepossessions to dis- 
credit the calumny, Herbert felt it the more in- 
cumbent on him to use vigorous measures to res- 
cue his name from disgrace. The result of his 
deliberation w’as the following letter to Mr. Mor- 
ton: — 

Sir, 

You have uttered, in my hearing, and in 
no measured terms, statements respecting the con- 
duct of my father, which, as I solemnly believed 
them to be untrue, I could not, for an instant, 
suffer to pass uncontradicted. Your expressions, 
though intentionally hostile, I do not believe to 
have been intentionally false. I give you the full- 
est credit for a sincere faith in the truth of that 
which you alleged; and can make great allowances 
for the irritation which such a conviction might 
naturally produce. But with whatever degree of 
confidence such allegations might be made, I feel 
myself equally bound to notice them, and to take 
the directest method of resisting your attacks. 

With this view, I require from you a letter 
— to which I must be allowed to give all possible 
publicity — which shall express a sorrow for the in- 
temperate nature of your language, and a willing- 
ness to suspend your unfavourable judgment, and 
also to co-operate with me in disproving the slan- 
der, and tracing it to its source. This is the least 
reparation which one gentleman can offer to the in- 
jured honour of another; and I ask it with a sin- 
cere confidence that it will not be refused. I can 
scarcely anticipate a refusal from one whose gen- 
tlemanly feelings I am willing to estimate highly; 


28 


HERBERT LACY* 


but I will not disguise from you the alternative 
which such a refusal must entail. Great as is my 
aversion to the system of duelling, and deeply as 
I should regret the necessity of a nostile meeting 
with you, I should not regard the rescue of my fa- 
ther’s character from unmerited obloquy too dearly 
purchased even at such a price. 

I will not, however, dwell upon these possi- 
bilities of evil; I will hope for a happier termina- 
tion to our differences: and I shall hardly regret 
this temporary misunderstanding, if it shall be the 
means of bringing you to a truer estimation of the 
character of him whom you have been so hastily 
and unadvisedly led to calumniate.” 

The letter was written, shown to Hartley, and 
approved of by him; and within an hour from the 
time of Lacy’s last angry parting from Mr. Mor- 
ton, Hartley was on his way to deliver it to the 
ktter. 


HERBERT LACY. 


29 


CHAPTER IV. 


The secret mischiefs that I set abroach, 

I lay unto the grievous charge of others. 

Richard III 

We must now turn to Mr. Morton, who quit- 
ted the ordinary soon after Lacy, and retired to 
his apartment with feelings of no enviable descrip- 
tion. Though somewhat * heated with wine, ancf 
consequently in a state more than usually irritable, 
he could scarcely be said to have, approached the 
verge of actual intoxication; and the passion of the 
moment was, therefore, soon permitted to subside 
into stubborn vexation, mixed with some portion 
of regret at the intemperate, or, what he feared 
might have seemed, ungentlemanly violence of his 
deportment. He had always a great value for ap- 
pearances, and he dreaded having departed, even 
in a quarrel, from the external requisites of good 
breeding. He had a great deal of pride; but it 
was the pride of a little mind. He was angry with 
himself for having compromised his dignity ; but 
he was only the more angry with the cause and 
witness of his error ; and the more determined to 
regain what he thought his fallen height, by a spi- 
rited resistance to all expostulation. 

In this frame of mind, he was joined by Sack- 
ville, who, though not in the room at the ordinary 
at the time of the quarrel, had received some ob- 
scure intelligence of what had passed, and now 
3 * 


30 


HERBERT LACY. 


came to learn from Mr. Morton the success of his 
own machinations. He had a difficult card to play : 
he had to repress inquiry into the origin of the dis- 
agreement, even while he pretended surprise and 
curiosity respecting its cause 5 and to inflame the 
anger of the contending parties while he ostensi- 
bly laboured to act the peace maker. Scarcely 
had he heard from Mr. Morton the story pf his 
wrongs, than it was announced that Mr. Hartley 
was desirous of seeing the latter. 

‘^He brings an apology, I suppose,^’ said Sack- 
ville: ‘‘with your leave I will retire. You will 
doubtless think it more generous to receive the 
recantation alone. 

Sackville went out, promising a speedy return, 
.^and Hartley was ushered in. 

“ Mr. Morton,’’ said the latter, as he tendered a 
letter, “ it is not my wish to press for a hasty an- 
swer to this letter j nor can I enter into any dis- 
cussion of the circumstances which have produced 
it. I can only say that I regret them. You will 
reply at your leisure.” 

Mutual bows passed, and Hartley departed, 
leaving Mr. Morton to the perusal of Lacy’s ad- 
dress. No sooner had he finished it, than Sack^ 
ville returned, and the letter was put into his 
hands. His countenance, as he read it, assumed 
an appearance of mingled astonishment and grief. 

“lam sorry for this,” said he; “ it is what I did 
not expect. It is a strange letter, half conciliatory, 
half — I was going to say, insulting; but I should 
be unwilling to think that he means to insult you. 
Do not let us give way to anger. Let us review 
his letter calmly.” 

“ I am calm, said Mr. Morton, his features in- 
flaming with anger as he spoke. 

“If you were not,” replied Sackville, laying 
his hand soothingly upon his arm, “it would not 


HERBERT LACY. 


31 


much surprise me, considering, as I do, the pro- 
vocation. I trust, however, that you can make 
considerable allowance for the indiscretion of a 
young man; though to be sure his youth ought to 
have made him more respectful; but young men 
will be hot and hasty. Yet, I dare say, lie meant 
no great incivility — merely a contradiction.’^ 
‘‘Oh, no! merely a contradiction! ” said Mr. 
Morton, with a splenetic smile. 

“ And if his manner was not offensive ” 

“ It was offensive,” interrupted Mr. Morton. 

“ I am truly sorry to here it, ” pursued Sack- 
ville. “He was probably very much irritated; 
and it is perhaps the conciousness of that which 
makes him say, that he can make great allowances 
for the irritation which you might have felt.” 

“Insolence!” muttered Mr. Morton, stung to 
the quick by the artful mention of this galling pas- 
sage. “ The suppositon of my irritation, Mr. Sack- 
ville, was a license of his own; and I can only re- 
gard it as an- additional insult. Indeed the whole 
tenor of his letter is insulting. You know it is — ■ 
and you cannot deny it. ” 

Sackville sighed, but attempted no denial. “ I 
wish to make the best of the case,” said he. “ I 
confess that Lacy and I are friends. — He owes me 
a service,: and one is naturally partial to those 
whom one has befriended. In short, there is no- 
body with whom I more regret to see you at vari- 
ance, than with him. But do not, my dear Sir, 
therefore suppose that I am inclined to neglect 
your interests, or forget your prior claims to my 
consideration. If I appear to regard your wrongs 
as slight, it is because I am anxious to avoid the 
consequences of a meeting. You see the condi- 
tions of the letter — an apology for what he calls 
the intemperate nature of your language — or — 
Good God! that it should come to that! a duel. 


32 


HERBERT LACIT 


Oh! it must be prevented. I should be sorry that 
my anxiety for your safety should lead me to ad- 
vise any humiliating step; but if it were possible 
by submission ” 

Submission! Mr. Sackville! do you know me 
^so little as to expect ’’ 

^‘Forgive me/’ interrupted Sackville, rising in 
well feigned agitation. I scarcely know what I 
am saying — perhaps I was too careless of your 
honour — I was thinking only of your safety. Lacy 
is young, and hot, and resolute. He is of an an- 
cient and haughty family, and is himself proud and 
high spirited. He is little likely to yield, and I 
have always found him as good as his word.^’ 

Oh, I will believe him as terrible as you 
please,’’ replied Mr. Morton, with increasing an- 
ger. You need not entertain me with a descrip- 
tion of his qualifications for a duellist — spare me 
his feats with sword and pistol. You ought to 
know that considerations like these can make no 
difference in my resolution, and that -I am not to 
be bullied with impunity, if he were fifty times 
the proud, resolute, high-spirited person, that you 
are pleased to represent him.” 

He paced angrily across the room, while Sack- 
ville regarded him with a calm look of secret satis- 
faction. By assuming an imprudent eagerness to 
compose the quarrel, he had contrived at once to 
save his own credit, and so to inflame the pride 
of his companion, as to render reconciliation more 
difiicult than before. Nothing was now wanting 
to the consummation of his projects but a duel be- 
tween Mr. Morton and Lacy by which Sackville 
hoped to effect the perpetual estrangement of the 
two families. 

“ I have been considering,” said he after a si- 
lence of a few minutes, “ whether it is not possi- 
ble to arrange this unfortunate affair so as to avoid 


HERBERT LACY. 


33 


a meeting, consistently with a regard for your ho- 
nour, which, however anxious for your safety I 
would be the last to compromise. ” 

And what do you suggest’^ said Mr. Morton. 

Would to God I knew how to answer you. 
You will not apologize — you must not fight him. 
Why return him any answer? Surely he will 
not dare to post you 

And can any friend of mine advise me to in- 
cur the possibility of such a disgrace ? 

No, no!’’ exclaimed Sackville, hastily, and as 
if much agitated and perplexed. ‘‘ I do not ad- 
vise it; I do not know what to advise. This 
circumstance agitates and distresses me. I have 
only one feeling — for your safety — one wish— 
to prevent all evil consequences; but I am not 
capable of offering advice,” and he turned away 
with well aifected imbecility and dejection, leav- 
ing Mr. Morton to the uncontrolled guidance 
of those angry passions, which the insidious inter- 
position of his false friend had goaded almost to 
frenzy. 

Stung with a bitter sense of his wrongs, the lat- 
ter, after one more angry glance at the least paci- 
fic parts of Lacy’s letter, hastily took up pen and 
paper, and wrote the following answer. 

accept your alternative. I do not shrink 
from the publicity with which you threaten me; 
but I will at least take care that you shall not pub- 
lish a submission. I will not disappoint your evi- 
dent wish for a hostile meeting. You will find 
me ready at six to-morrow. I claim the privilege 
of the challenged, in choosing time, weapons, and 
place of encounter. My weapons, will be pis- 
tols. My second will arrange the rest.” 

The letter was written, and directed, before 
Sackville would choose to exhibit any conscious- 
ness of the proceedings of Mr. Morton, and he 


34 


HERBERT LACT. 


Started as if from a dream, when the latter approach- 
ed him with a letter in his hand. 

Here is my answer”, said he. May I ask 
you to deliver it ?” 

“With pleasure,” replied Sackville “ if its con- 
tents are pacific. ” 

Do I understand you correctly ?” exclaimed 
Morton. Is your consent to bear my letter 
only conditional ?” 

“ It is only conditional,” replied Sackville. “ I 
can be the bearer of no hostile answer; but do not, 
because I decline this office, doiibt my friendship 
and willingness to assist you. The service which 
I once rendered to Lacy would make any such in- 
tervention extremely painful to me; and I trust 
that your kindness will spare me the trial. If I 
were the only person who could perform this of- 
fice, the case would be different, and I would will- 
ingly make the sacrifice; but I am neither the only 
person, nor the most proper one. You have a 
a son-in-law, who has a prior claim, to have his 
services required. Lord Malvern, I am sure, 
will feel your wrongs as deeply as I can do, and 
he is more nearly connected with the cause of 
your misunderstanding. The quarrel, (if I may 
be allowed to say so,) is partly his, and he might 
feel hurt at not being applied to.” 

These arguments were sufficient; Mr. Morton, 
proud of his connection with the Rodboroughs, 
was glad to gain their co-operation in a quarrel, 
which if the merits of the case were examined, 
really belonged much mure to them, than to him- 
self. Permission was therefore given to Sack- 
ville, to request that Lord Malvern would be the 
ostensible intervening party between the challen- 
ger and the challenged; and so ingeniously was 
the case represented by Sackville, that Lord Mai- 
yern, full of indignation at the wrongs of his fa- 


Herbert lacy. 35 

ther-in-law, fully acceded to every hostile mea- 
sure in which he was required to co-operate. 

About two hours, had now elapsed since the 
meeting at the ordinary. Lord Malvern had pre- 
sented himself to Lacy, as the friend and second 
of Mr. Morton : had given his letter, and had re- 
tired to adjust with Hartley the preliminaries" of 
the meeting; when Sackville having ascertained 
to what stage the business had advanced, at length 
repaired, with the studied appearance of haste and 
consternation, to the presence of Lacy, with the 
ostensible purpose of protesting against those ex- 
tremities, which he trusted it was now to late to 
prevent. 

After many exclamations of sorrow and surprise 

Lacy,” said he, with a well-assumed look of 
deep affliction, it is a cruel circumstance for me 
that such a misunderstanding should have occurred 
between my two best friends, and that I should 
not have been able to make up the quarrel : but I 
hope it may still be possible. I know that you 
are not implacable, nor, I trust, is Morton. I am 
willing to think that he may be brought to listen 
to overtures. Perhaps some slight acknowledg- 
ment ” 

^‘Acknowledgment! Of what?” said Lacy; 

of the justice and generosity of his false attack 
upon my father’s character ? Of his public cal- 
umny of an absent person ? Consider, Sackville, 
what you are proposing; and do not, in your ea- 
gerness for a reconciliation, so completely overlook 
the obstacles which lie in the w’ay to it. You say 
you are willing to believe that Mr. Morton may 
be brought to listen to overtures: perhaps he may, 
but we have yet to learn, by whom those overtures 
can be made. I have shown a willingness to ex- 
cuse his fault — and here,” pointing to Morton’s 
letter, “ is the reward of my forbearance.” 


36 


HEKBEKT LACY. 


Sackville sighed, and looked imploringly at 
Lacy. Forgive me,’’ said he, ‘‘ if I seem offi- 
cious — I wished, if possible, to be the bearer of 
some message which might lead to an amicable ar- 
rangement” 

‘‘Have you any authority from Mr. Morton, to 
say that such a message would be favourably re- 
ceived !” 

Sackville hesitated, and seemed anxious to avoid 
the question; and on Lacy’s repeating it, answer- 
ed, despondingly, in the negative. 

“ Then, where is your basis for an amicable ar- 
rangement ?” 

Sackville made no answer; and turned away 
with an audible sigh, which was meant to convey 
that there was none. It did convey that impres- 
sion most strongly to the mind of Lacy : and thus 
had Sackville under the guise of a peace-maker, 
artfully contrived to incense both parties still more 
against each other, and to lead them to the belief 
that no further step remained for either than to 
fight. He had effected this without committing 
himself by any assertion that could be repeated to 
the detriment of his plans; and he had paralyzed 
and precluded the efforts of the seconds, by giving 
them to understand that the office of peace-maker 
was peculiarly his; and that his exertions, though 
aided by the advantage of a friendship with both 
of the parties, were entirely unsuccessful. 

Thus deprived of the sincere good offices of 
their true friends, and exposed to the deep-laid 
treachery of a false one, the hostile parties advanc- 
ed without one efficient check towards that unhal- 
lowed system, that remnant of barbarous conten- 
tion, which the rules of modern society still pre- 
scribe as the best mode of appeasing the wounded 
feelings, and re-establishing the injured character, 
of its most elevated members. 


HERBERT LACT. 


37 


CHAPTER V. 


I»e duel est le triomphe de la mode, et I’endroit ou elle a 
tree son empire avec plus d’^clat. 


Bruyere. 


ex- 


Though it was known to several that angry 
words had passed between Mr. Morton and Her- 
bert Lacy, yet the knowledge of the subsequent 
challenge, and its acceptance, was confined to five 
persons — the principals, seconds, and Sackville. — • 
The Rodboroughs, Lady Malvern, and Agnes, had 
returned from the course to Westcourt and Dods- 
well, and could not be apprized of the circum-. 
stance. There was more danger of discovery on 
the part of Herbert’s relations; for Lady Lacy and 
his sister were still staying in the town, and he 
and Hartley could not avoid seeing them that 
night. Hartley, though with a heavy heart, pru- 
dently resolved to absent himself, by fulfilling his 
duties at the ball, a woeful epilogue to that of the 
preceding evening. Herbert was perfectly suc- 
cessful in assuming the appearance of cheerfulness 
and composure; and quietly pleading an engage- 
ment on the morrow, as the cause of his return to 
Lacy Park, he mounted his horse and rode home. 
He found Sir William still up, engaged with a 
book that interested him, and little disposed to talk. 
He merely observed to his son that his coming was 
unexpected; made no inquiry about the races, con- 
cerning which, he rather piqued himself upon 
VoL. II. 4 


38 


HERBERT LACY. 


showing no curiosity — and continued to read in si- 
lence. 

And this,’^ thought Herbert, as he sat near 
his father, shading with his hand his agitated coun- 
tenance, and this, perhaps, is oiir last interview, 
and it must pass in indifference and silence; and I 
must utter nothing of all that I would say, nay, 
must talk with an air of carelessness, and take, 
perhaps, an eternal leave, as if we should meet on 
the morrow.’^ 

His agitation was very great, and if Sir William 
had not been much absorbed, he must have observ- 
ed it. 

1 must command myself,’’ thought Lacy, 
and break through this horrible silence.” Have 
you heard. Sir ?” said he, ‘‘that ” 

“My dear Herbert, I have heard nothing,” in- 
terrupted the baronet, rather drily: “ what should 
I hear in this cell of mine ? Hermits have little 
to do with news: but come,” he added, closing his 
book, “I will hear you talk for five minutes. — 
What was your piece of information ?” 

“ That Lord Rodborough has purchased the 
Bloxwich property.” 

“ I know that,” replied Sir William. 

“ And that the title is defective.” 

“ I know that too.” 

Herbert felt a sudden chill of ominous dread at 
these words; and confident as he had been of the 
integrity of his father, it was with trembling ea- 
gerness that he inquired how long he had possess- 
ed this knowledge — the answer re-assured him. 

“A day or two,” was the reply; and Herbert 
breathed more freely. 

“ And you never knew it before ?” he added. 

“ Certainly, never — how should I ?” 

“ I do not know — perhaps Allen — ^ — ” 

Allen? he tell me? no, not he; besides, con- 


HERBERT LACY. 


29 


sider, my dear fellow, that, if I had really known 
the circumstance, though I should have acted pru- 
dently in refusing the purchase, I could not, with 
propriety, have appeared to waive it in favour of 
another — that would have been dishonest — a piece 
of practical equivocation — I hope you view it in 
that light’’ 

Exactly, Sir, I perfectly agree with you.” 

Sir William then rose to retire, and Herbert felt 
with anguish that the terrible moment of parting 
had arrived. The baronet stopped to contemplate 
for an instant the haggard countenance of his son. 

Herbert,” said he,. you look ill. You have 
been jaded and harassed with these races. You 
are a sight to moralize upon — a standing warning 
to all who make a toil of pleasure. But I cannot 
stay to moralize. You want rest, and so do I. 
Good night! Why, how now? have you any thing 
to say to me ?” 

No, Sir — nothing.” 

Why then, good night ? Nay, surely you do 
not take me for your partner ? that squeeze of the 
hand must have been meant for her. Is it some 
new divinity? or the old one reinstalled ? Well, 
well, make your disclosures at your own good 
time, only do not let it be now. Come, what are 
we lingering about ? once more — good night.” 

Good night!” repeated Herbert, almost inau- 
dibly, and fixed to the spot, and scarcely breathing, 
followed his father with his eyes till the closing 
door concealed him. 

“ Gone!” he murmured to himself, ‘^and I may 
never see him morej and this perhaps was an eter- 
nal leave-taking!” He threw himself on a chair, 
and hid his face in his hands, in a short paroxysm 
of mental agony. 

After a while he arose, and wdth a countenance 
calmer than before, The struggle is past,” said 


40 


HERBERT LACY. 


he: now to my duty/’ The task he had enjoin- 
ed himself, and which he now prepared to execute, 
was a severe one, and demanded all his firmness- 
It was to inform his father, by letter, of all that 
had passed, and that still was to ensue, and the mo- 
tives which influenced his conduct. This latter 
part of his address is the only one which it is neces- 
sary to transcribe. 

I do not know,” he said, how far my vio- 
lent mode of vindication may meet with your de- 
liberate approval. I might perhaps at the time be 
acting more under the influence of mere feeling 
than I was willing to believe; but still, when 1 
calmly review my conduct, I am not disposed to 
condemn it. 

Do not however, suppose that I am therefore 
an advocate for duelling. I think that the instan- 
ces are very few in which it is justifiable. I ques- 
tion whether I would ever call it more than a ve- 
nial offence; but I consider that the degrees of cri- 
minality vary greatly, and that every case must 
be judged upon its own merits. I acknowledge, 
with respect, the authority of the law as a vindica- 
tor of wrongs; but these are wrongs, which the 
law cannot vindicate — and wounds which it cannot 
heal; and the customs of society have recognised 
this system as the only remedy in such cases. A 
more perfect state of society would probably have 
dispensed with such an ordeal : but we cannot 
change the constitution of the world, and must 
avail ourselves of such measures as are suited to 
the exigences of the time. 

In the present instance, an amicable inquiry 
might doubtless satisfactorily confute the calumny : 
but if the accuser persist in his hostility, and if 1 
cannot call the attention of the public to a quiel 
examination of the case, I can at least show them 
the firmness of my own convictions. This practi- 


HERBERT LACY. 


41 


cal appeal may have its effect upon minds that have 
not sufficient candour to be accessible to any other. 
I am now aware that the poison has long been se- 
cretly working when we were unconcious of it, 
and that some decided measure is necessary to 
check its progress. I am diffident of my own 
judgment, and of the solidity of these reasons : 
but I have another, which, bound as I feel to open 
to you my whole heart, I will not scruple to re- 
veal. 

“ It was impossible, — it would have been wrong 
that you should not have been acquainted with the 
injurious reflections which had been cast upon your 
character. You must have known them in course 
of time, and knowing them, it is not improbable that 
you might have challanged your aggressor. This 
I could prevent only by forestalling your intentions, 
and rendering myself a hostage, and I am thankful 
to Providence forThe chance which has enabled me 
to do so. I trust I shall meet my opponent with- 
out bearing with me any evil passion. I view 
him as a misguided person, and much as he has in- 
jured you, I feel rather grief than anger at his de- 
lusion. I wish him no injury, and shall endeavour 
not to wound him.” 

After having performed this task, his mind 
seemed unburthened of a load, and invigorated by 
the trial he had undergone. As the flow of his 
spirits abated, a sense of bodily fatigue came over 
him; and having offered his accustomed prayer at 
the throne of mercy, with more than usual fervour 
and solemnity, he threw himself upon a bed to 
snatch a short repose. Roused by no accusing 
conscience he soon yielded to the hand of nature 
and sleep surprised him pondering on the pheno- 
menon of his own tranquillity. 

When he awoke it was yet night, but a dim, 
grey light, the precursor of morning, was faintly 


42 


HERBERT LACY. 


appearing in the east. No living creature had 
yet given signs of life; nothing met his eye 
but the distant gleam, a soleamn monitor of the 
lapse of time, and all between was dark and dubi- 
ous as his own fate. He arose and looked out, and 
fixed his eyes intently on the brightening ho- 
rizon. 

Soon,” thought he, ‘^all tliis scene will teem 
with light and life as usual — while I — I may never 
see it more, hut living or dead, I shall have per- 
formed a painful duty.” 

With gentle steps he quitted his apartment, and 
sought the room where his father usually sat. He 
deposited his letter on the table; looked round at 
many well known' objects, now faintley visible 
through the gloom, and then silently retired. In 
a few minutes he had quitted the house, mounted 
his horse, which he had privately ordered to be 
ready for him, and was on his road to Henbury. 
He dismounted at an inn near the outskirts of the 
town, and walked to the place where Hartley had 
appointed to meet him. As he approached the 
spot, he heard footsteps behind him, and on turn- 
ing, saw his brother-in-law. Their only greeting 
was a silent pressure of the hand, and for a while 
no word was uttered. The object of .their meet- 
ing was a topic which they approached with re- 
pugnance; and every other seemed irrelevant. 

We are before our time,” was Hartley’s first 
observation. 

We are, and it is best.” 

Is your father informed ?” 

No: happily he know's nothing. My mother 
and Emily ?” 

^^They have no suspicions.” 

Thank God ! Charles, if I fall, convey to 
them every assurance of my sincere affection; say, 
that my last, best wishes were for their happiness — 


HERBERT LACY 


43 


say to them — but I cannot express what I would — 
it is difficult to clothe in words all that one feels at 
such a moment as this — but you know my sen- 
timents, and can supply what is wanting.^’ 

Hartley pressed his hand — but tears filled his 
eyes, and for a while he could not speak. “ God 
forbid, said he at length, that such a necessity 
should ever come. Do not think so gloomily of 
the case — ^why look on the dark side ? It is expo- 
sing yourself to a needless trial.” 

‘‘Nay not needlessj” replied Lacy. “ I would 
have no calamity come upoti me unawares. There 
is neither sense nor courage in shutting one’s eyes 
to possible evils; and I trust I can look steadily at 
the worst — and now* let us go to the ground.’-^ 

A few minutes’ walk brought them to the ap- 
pointed place of meeting, a retired field, selected 
on account of its remoteness from both house and 
road. It was a grey, chill, autumnal morning — 
the sun had just risen, and was dimly appearing 
like a red globe through the dense mass of va- 
pours which then lay heavy on the horizon. No 
breeze ruffled the trees — scarce a leaf stirred — not 
an insect was on the wing; and silence seemed to 
reign over the land, invaded only by the solernn 
measured croakings of the unseen raven. The 
cattle lay quiescent, their heads bearly emerging 
above a white veil of mist, which was spread over 
the surface of the earth, giving to the neighbouring 
fields the character of lakes, ^nd making the low 
hedges rise around them with all the dignity of fo- 
rests. It was nature under its most placid, and, 
at the same time, least cheering aspect. 

Scarcely had Lacy and his companion entered 
and surveyed the scene, than two figures appeared 
to advance through the mist, from the opposite 
corner of the field. These were. Lord Malvern 
0.nd Mr. Morton. The latter presently stopped* 


44 


HERBERT LACY^ 


Lacy also fell back; and the two seconds advanced 
to make the preliminary arrangements. Many 
words had not passed between them, before ano- 
ther person was seen to approach, and they found 
themselves joined by Sackville. Hartley receiv- 
ed him with an air of coldness and surprise. 

You come, I conclude as the friend of Mr. 
Morton.’’ said he. He probably remembers, 
the proverb, ‘ in the multitude of counsellors there 
is safety. ’ ” 

I trust that such will be the case,” replied 
Sackville, calmly,” and not to him only. I 
come as the friend to both parties — I will not give 
up the last chance of reconciliation.” 

The seconds shook their heaSs. If reconcilia- 
tion had been possible,” observed Lord Malvern, 
^‘we should not have met here,” and without: 
more words, they proceeded to make the prepa- 
rations for the combat. 

The ground was measured, the pistols loaded, 
the signal settled, and the parties had taken their 
respective stations. Sackville had once more de- 
manded in terms which he knew would be repug- 
nant to the feelings of each, whether either party 
was willing to prevent the possible effusion of 
blood, by making any timely concessions. A 
stern denial was their mutual answer. The se- 
conds exchanged a sorrowing look — the signal 
was given — and Morton and Lacy fired at the 
same instant. 

Neither took any aim, or even looked at his op- 
ponent. Their eyes were fixed upon their seconds 
in expectation of the signal, and their pistols low- 
ered until it was given. Lacy’s pistol, though 
his arm was straight, was directed upwards at the 
time he fired, by a slight elevation of :be wrist, a 
circumstance, which however material, escaped 
the observation of the seconds. The smoke, ad- 


HERBERT LACY. 


45 


ded to the mistiness of the atmosphere, rendered 
it difficult, at the first instant, to perceive the ef- 
fect of the fire. It was, however, immediately 
ascertained, that each combatant still stood erect 
in his place; and an exclamation of thankfulness 
burst involuntarily from “the by-standers. 

Lord Malvern, Hartley, and Sackville, then ad- 
vanced, and the latter inquired aloud if both par- 
ties were satisfied. Mr. Morton made no answer. 
Lacy stood immoveable, with, arms folded across 
his breast. His mien was humble, rather than 
haughty: his countenance was very pale, and its 
expression was rather that of calm resignation, than 
the indignant stubbornness of a combatant. 

came here,’^ said he, in a low, but resolute 
tone, vindicate my father, and I repeat ,my 
first demands. I ask of Mr. Morton, that he shall 
publicly express a sorrow for his accusations, and 
a willingness to suspend his judgment; and that 
he shall consent to co-operate with me, in tracing, 
and disproving the slander which he allowed him- 
self to utter. This is still my demand. Mr. Mor- 
ton hears it: let him answer.’’ 

Mr. Morton’s irritation had been gradually cool- 
ing since the period of the challenge, and he was 
now on the point of returning a conciliatory an- 
swer; when a look from Sackville, a look address- 
ed to him alone, and bearing in it scorn and won- 
der, rekindled in an instant all the angry pride 
which had burned so fiercely tha preceding night. 
An instantaneous change of sentiments ensued; he 
scowled defiance upon Lacy, and sternly rejected 
his conditions. The seconds wished to compose 
the difference; but each feared to compromise the 
honour of his friend, and each consequently scru- 
pled to speak. There was no alternative but to 
fire again. Another pistol was put into the hand 
of each of the opponents ; and the seconds drew 
back, and again prepared to give the signah 


46 


HERBERT LACS’. 


At this instant, Lacy was seen to advance to- 
wards Mr. Morton, but with uncertain steps, and 
a bewildered air, as if not conscious what he did. 
Mr. Morton started, and uttered an exclamation : 
and the sudden and strange demeanour of both the 
combatants, was regarded with surprise by the se- 
conds. •* 

Keep your ground,’’ cried Lord Malvern. 

He is pale — he staggers!” said Sackville. 

Blood! I see, blood!” exclaimed Hartley, — 
^^he is wounded — save him! — save him!” and 
springing forward, he caught Lacy in his arms as 
he was sinking senseless to the ground. He had 
been wounded by the first fire, and had concealed 
the circumstance that he might better effect that 
vindication to which he had devoted himself. 


HERBERT LACY. 


47 


CHAPTER VI. 


Le commun des hommes va de la colere, a IMnjure: quelques 
uns en usent autrement; ils offensent, et puis se fachent. 

Bruyere. 


It would be difficult adequately to describe the 
effect of this unexpected and terrible discovery. 
All was grief and consternation. The angry pride 
of Mr. Morton was suddenly transformed into re- 
pentant sorrow; and with a quick revulsion of feel- 
ing, he bitterly bewailed alond the unhappy chance 
which had rendered him the victor. 

Oh that I had fallen he exclaimed, in a tone 
of agony, as he knelt by Lacy, anxiously assisting 
to restore his wandering senses. Sackville press- 
ed him to depart, and consider his own safety; but 
he was deaf to all such entreaties. 

^^I will not stir until he revives,” said he. — 

Let me at least know that I am not quite a mur- 
derer.” 

Thank God! he does revive,” said Hartley. 

He does! he does! God be thanked!” exclaim- 
ed Mr. Morton. ‘‘Mr. Lacy, I was hasty — I was 
wrong — I yield to your conditions.” 

“ Do not linger — save yourself,” said Sackville, 
seizing him by the arm. 

“ Away !^’ said Mr. Morton, “ and let me make 
my atonement. Mr. Lacy, I abjure my suspicions 
of your father — I accede to all you asked.” 

Lacy’s consciousness had returned, and though 


48 


HERBERT LACt. 


a partial oblivion of the past attended his first re- 
covery, he was sufficiently himself again to be 
aware of the important purport of Mr. Morton’s 
words. He faintly signified his acceptance of the 
concession, and stretched out his hand in pledge of 
reconciliation. The pledge was promptly receiv- 
ed; and the hands, that a few minutes ago had been 
armed for mutual destruction. Were now joined in 
earnest of returning friendship. 

Strange is the sudden revulsion of feeling, which 
powerful circumstances produce. Such happy re- 
sults form one of the strongest among the practical 
arguments that are adduced in favour of the other- 
wise scarcely defensible System of duelling; and in 
opposition to such as object that the influence of 
these emotions is too sudden and violent to be last- 
ing, it may be said, that the instances are not un- 
frequent, of those who have met in this hostile 
manner having lived long afterwards on terms of 
friendship. 

The attentions of the whole party to Lacy were 
unremitted. A surgeon who, under pledge of se- 
crecy, had been engaged by the seconds to be in 
readiness, and who had remained apart at a little 
distance, to. wait the issue of the fire, now approach- 
ed to afford his assistance and advice. The wound 
was happily discovered not to be dangerous, and 
Lacy’s temporary insensibility, which had struck 
the party with such alarm, was pronounced to have 
proceeded only from the effusion of blood. His 
safe removal was now the object uppermost in their 
minds, and a carriage having been providently or- 
dered beforehand to be stationed at a convenient 
distance from the place of meeting, Lacy was soon 
placed in it, to be conveyed to his brother-in-law’s 
apartments in the town. 

Though too weak to combat any of the arrange- 
ments that were made respecting his disposal, Lacy 


HERBERT LACY. 


49 


was anxious to avoid all chance of sudden alarm to 
his mother and sister, and proposed to be convey- 
ed elsewhere; but Hartley, influenced by the idea 
that his brother-in-law would be better there than 
any where else, overruled his objections, saying that 
they must know some time or other, and might as 
well he informed at first. The carriage conveying 
Lacy moved at a foot’s pace towards the town, 
and considerable time elapsed before it arrived at 
the house. 

Hartley, who had walked thither, arrived a few 
minutes before it, and was engaged in communica- 
ting the intelligence to Lady Lacy and Mrs. Hart- 
ley, when Herbert entered the house, assisted by 
Sackville and the surgeon. Not knowing where 
to conduct their charge, they opened the door of 
the nearest room, which happened to be the break- 
fast room, where Miss Hartley was sitting alone. 
She rose hastily, with some surprise at the unex- 
pected intrusion; a surprise which soon grew into 
alarm as she cast her eyes upon the figure of Lacy, 
to whom, she saw at once, that something serious 
had happened. 

Lacy wished to retire, but Sackville would not 
allow him; and directing the surgeon to lead him 
to the sofa, he advanced towards Miss Hartley, and 
in a few words explained the whole circumstance, 
of which, not having yet seen her brother, she was to- 
tally ignorant. Naturally timid, and endued with 
little strength of mind, hearing suddenly of the ac- 
tual occurrence of horrors which she had hitherto 
thought almost fictitious, and which her imagina- 
tion instantly magnified, and seeing in the pale 
countenance of Lacy enough to warrant* her worst 
fears, she found the shock too great for her feeble 
nerves; and scarcely had Sackville uttered ten 
words, than she turned pale and fainted — Sackville 
caught her as she was about to fall, and Lacy him- 

VoL. II. 5 


50 


HERBERT LACY. 


self, forgetting his wound, rushed forward to her 
assistance. 

Lady Lacy, her daughter, and Heartley, entered 
the room immediately afterwards; and instead of 
finding a sympathizing group round the wounded 
Lacy, saw a new and unexpected sufferer in Miss 
Hartley: and all the interest and compassion which 
was due to Herbert; suddenly transferred to her. 
The perplexity which it produced, was, perhaps, 
to them a fortunate circumstance, and spared them 
from much needless anxiety; for they could not, 
on seeing Lacy, interested in the temporary suffer- 
ings of another, and seemingly regardless of his 
own situation, any longer entertain those extreme 
apprehensions which their imaginations, in the first 
instance, had been rather prone to magnify. They 
expected to have found Herbert almost senseless, 
and scarcely able to speak or move; and their first 
emotion, on now beholding him so engaged, was 
one of joyful surprise: but grief quickly followed; 
and greatly as their first fears had exceeded the 
truth, they still found in his actual state, much 
cause for lamentation. 

Sir William Lacy soon arrived: his coming had 
been somewhat retarded by an interview with Mr. 
Morton, in the presence of Lord Malvern. Im- 
mediately upon Herbert’s being taken from the 
ground, under the care of Hartley and Sackville, 
Mr. Morton formed the sudden resolution of go- 
ing to Lacy Park, to inform the baronet of his 
son’s state, and to offer, in person, his recantation. 
— It was a resolution formed before the tide of 
generous sorrow, and self-condemnation had begun 
to revert, -and when atonement was felt to be, not 
only a duty, but a pleasure. 

On his arrival, he found Sir William Lacy in 
much agitation. He had read his son’s letter, and 
was on the point of setting out for Henbury. The 


HERBERT LACY. 


51 


interview was short, but satisfactory; and, as it 
took place in the presence of Lord Malvern, it was 
effectual in removing those aspersions which had 
been hastily cast upon Sir William’s conduct 
Thus, scarcely had the baronet become informed 
of the attack which had been made upon him, than 
he received an atonement for the injury, and shook 
hands with the person whom, a few minutes be- 
fore, he had considered as his mortal etiemy. 

The meeting between Sir William and Herbert 
was marked by much emotion on either side. Joy. 
at finding his son out of danger, and parental pride 
and gratitude for his noble defence of his reputa- 
tion; the excitement, too occasioned by his inter- 
view with Mr. Morton, and the effects of the agi- 
tation he had undergone upon reading Herbert’s 
letter, all now combined to overcome his firmness; 
he struggled, but in vain, to prevent the burst of 
overcharged feelings; till, at length, bending his 
head upon the shoulder of Herbert, he wept audi- 
bly. 

After some time had passed, and their feelings 
had subsided into comparative calmness, Sir Wil- 
liam, having expressed his warmest thanks to his 
son, for the promptness and self-devotion with 
which he had undertaken his defence, added, 
^‘Herbert, after what I have said, you will not, I 
hope, accuse me of coldness and ingratitude; and 
I may venture, without hurting you, to take ano- 
ther view of what has passed, Let us, in all cir- 
cumstances, whether of great or little moment, 
proportion our means to the end we wish to gain. 
Do not let us incur sacrifices for which the object, 
when gained, will be no sufficient compensation. 
To rebut a slander is certainly desirable, but their 
are many ways of effecting it. The one which 
you chose, my dear son, was of very doubtful issue, 
and involved the liability of a sacrifice, for which 


02 


HERBERT LACY. 


no success could have compensated. I am glad to 
tind my character vindicated; but I cannot look 
back without a shudder at the peril through which 
that purpose was effected. Consider how much dear- 
er, how much more valuable, you are, and ought 
to be to me, than mere popular estimation. Your 
loss could not have been repaid, even if the pub- 
lic had decreed me a statue of gold. But you ac- 
ted to save my honour, and our honour, we are 
told, should be dearer than our life.^^ 

And should it not?’^ 

Perhaps it should ; but think first what you 
mean by your honour, and do not let us confound 
the shadow with the substance. Is there no differ- 
ence between commiting a dishonourable action, 
and being unjustly charged with one ? Is there 
any moral guilt in being slandered ? — Is there any 
moral obligation to clear one’s-self at all hazards ? 
There are too many, Herbert, who lose sight of 
these distinctions — who live only on public opin- 
ion, and are so accustomed to estimate their own 
conduct by its effect upon others, that they can 
scarcely imagine any difference between being ho- 
nourable, and being thought so. I do not mean to 
say that the desire of approbation is not an estima- 
ble, or, I would rather say, a useful feeling: if not 
quite a virtue, it is the guarantee of many, and so- 
ciety owes much that is valuable to its existence; 
but it is a sentiment to which, perhaps, in consid- 
eration of its great results, we are apt to attach ra- 
rather an undue importance. I do not wish entire- 
ly to convert you, Herbert; I do not wish to 
make you quite as regardless of the opinion of the 
world as I am myself, for, perhaps, 1 have fallen 
into the opposite extreme. I was always rather 
careless of what others thought and said of me, 
and it is a fault which increases with age. At 
your time of life, to be solicitous, even to excess, 


HEUBERT LACY. 


5§ 

of the approbation of others, is the better excess of 
the two. Do not think that I disapprove of this sen- 
timent — in you I know it is the parent of much 
that is generous and noble; but there is no sub- 
ject upon which more romantic and specious decla- 
mation has been uttered, and of a kind very capti- 
vating to young imaginations; and it can do you 
no harm to hear this opposed by a few plain opin- 
ions, from one whose enthusiasm has been cooled 
by sixty winters.’’ 

Mr. Morton’s full recantation, together with 
the representations of Sackville, who wished to 
stifle all inquiry, prevented Sir William Lacy 
from examining very narrowly into the origin of 
the mistake from which the injurious charge had 
arisen. Sackville, who possessed, to admiration, 
the art of leading others into an opinion, without 
seeming directly to advise them, instilled into the 
minds of both parties a feeling that it w’as more 
generous and decorous to apologize, and forgive and 
forget, than to enter into a scrupulous investiga- 
tion of the facts which had led either of them into 
error. In the slight inquiry which did take place 
the weight of the blame was made to rest upon 
Allen; but so dexterous an obscurity and confusion 
was thrown over the whole case, that the parties, 
were soon glad to take refuge in a general assump- 
tion of the thing to be proved, from the tedious 
intricacies of its development. 

Let us turn for a moment to Agnes Morton, 
than whom none can be supposed to have felt a 
more intense interest in the singular transactions 
of these two days. Her situation would have 
been agonizing indeed, had she been all along con- 
scious of that which was to happen; but she had 
remained in fortunate ignorance — not, indeed, of 
the violence of her father’s ill-will towards the 
Lacys, but of the latter excesses into which it had 


64 


HERBERT LACY. 


led him. The knowledge of this part of the his- 
tory came upon her after the termination of the 
duel; but it was so carefully broken to her, and 
all the more gratifying circumstance of the recon- 
ciliation, and of Lacy’s state of safety, were so 
judiciously brought foremost to her knowledge, 
that the grief and anxiety which she otherwise 
would have felt, were in a great measure remo- 
ved. She could no longer wish for the society 
of Lacy ; indeed it was a trial from which she ra- 
ther desired to be exempt; yet still it was a satisfac- 
tion to her to find that no enmity separated the fa- 
milies. 

What she found most painful was the necessity 
of disguising the interest she took in the progress 
of Lacy’s recovery, particularly when in the pre- 
sence of Sackville, who was the usual channel of 
information respecting him. Strong as was her 
resolution to forswear her unfortunate attachment, 
and think only on her present engagement, she al- 
most wished, at times, that this resolution would 
be confirmed in her by an engagement on the part 
of Lacy; and that she might be encouraged, even 
by his example, to forget what had once been their 
mutual feelings. This melancholy wish, had soon 
a prospect of being accomplished to its fullest ex- 
tent 


HERBERT LACY. 


55 


CHAPTER VII. 


It many times falls out that we deem ourselves much deceived 
in others, because we first deceived ourselves. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 

That good often springs out of evil has, from, 
time immemorial, been the just observation of 
many philosophers; and Lady Lacy, though very 
widely removed from a philosopher, was disposed 
to be of the same opinion, when she saw that the 
unfortunate circumstance of her son’s wound had 
the happy effect of furthering the desired union 
between him and Charlotte Hartley. It had been 
settled by her, at the time of Herbert’s removal to 
Lacy Park, that as he was fond of society, and 
could not now stir from home to obtain it, it would 
be more agreeable for him if their family party 
were a little augmented. Emily and her husband 
were therefore desired to come and stay at Lacy ; 
and as their sister was then with them, what so 
natural as that she should be invited too ? Lady 
Lacy did not scruple to impart to Mrs. Hartley her 
wish that Charlotte and Herbert should be thrown 
a little together; and that Lady, who was cautious 
of offering any opposition on this point, or of ques- 
tioning the desirableness of the object, gave her en- 
tire concurrence. 

Having gained this point. Lady Lacy confident- 
ly anticipated the success that was to follow, and 
complacently reviewed all the favourable circum- 


66 


HERBERT. UlCY. 


stances that were infallibly to lead to it. Herbert 
would not be able to stir, much from the house, or 
absent himself from Miss Hartley’s society. His 
situation too was a very interesting one; and if 
Charlotte had a grain of proper sensibility, how 
could she fail to fall in love with him? Of course 
she must — and, assuming this to be the case, if 
Herbert had a grain of gratitude, how could he fail 
to be equally enamoured in his turn ? 

This reasoning seemed very satisfactory; but 
Lady Lacy had, for the support of her conclusions, 
something more than probabilities. She could also 
build upon the occurrence of favourable circum- 
stances which had already fallen under her own ob- 
servation. Of these, foremost in importance was 
the fact of Miss Hartley’s fainting, when she first 
came to the knowledge of Herbert’s disaster. — 
This, to Lady Lacy, seemed conclusive — an une- 
quivocal proof of ardent attachment. To all at- 
tempts to attribute it to sudden fright, she was per- 
fectly inaccessible. She knew it was something 
more, and could soon remember a great many in- 
stances in which Miss Hartley had been suddenly 
frightened, and had not fainted. She had been 
alone in a room with a mouse, and in a summer- 
house with two toads. She had been overturned 
in a pony-carriage, and once very nearly thrown 
from her horse-— and in none of those instances 
had she fainted ; — therefore, fright alone could not 
make her faint. And then followed the important 
corollary, that nothing but all-powerful love could 
cause so violent an emotion. 

Herbert thought otherwise — perhaps, in a great 
measure, because lie hoped so. He had every wish 
to retard the discovery of Miss Hartley’s attach- 
ment to him ; and the consciousness of this wish 
made him sometimes fear that he was guilty of per- 
verse blindness in giving so little importance to 


HERBERT LACY. 


57 


those indications which had struck others so forci- 
bly. It was not merely the opinion of Lady Lacy 
— his sister was also of the same way of thinking. 
Hartley, though he alluded to it very slightly, al- 
ways seemed to treat it as a matter of course; and 
there was something in the manner, and, occasion- 
ally, in the words of Sackville, who was now a fre- 
quent visiter, which showed that he also entertain- 
ed a similar belief. 

Nor was this the only force that arrayed itself 
against his solitary hopes and opinions. Mrs. 
Poole, who came to spend a few days at Lacy 
Park, also contributed her mite of intelligent looks 
and ambiguous speeches; and though last, not least 
in the lists was Luscombe. This gentleman, ever 
since the duel, had taken a great interest in the si- 
tuation of Lacy, had called repeatedly to inquire 
after him, and had shown such an earnest desire to 
make himself useful and agreeable, that Lacy, 
though he had not previously liked the man, whom 
he regarded as a mere parasite, could not help be- 
ing won by his attentions. 

These attentions soon produced, what Luscombe 
doubtless expected, an invitation to stay at Lacy 
Park. The invitation was accepted; and as its 
term was undefined. Sir William and his lady were 
favoured with his company for a much longer time 
than they had originally contemplated. He, how- 
ever, made himself a pleasant inmate; for, being 
accustomed to spend at least nine-tenths of his 
time in other people’s houses, he had become ha- 
bitually dexterous in the act of paying for his re- 
ception in the small coin of little attentions; and 
that person must have been very impracticable, 
with whom, he could not have discovered some 
mode of ingratiating himself. 

Luscombe afforded Herbert a further confirma- 
tion of the truth of that which he had gathered 


58 


HERBERT LACY. 


from the hints and looks of the rest of the party. 
It was insinuated to him in all tones, the banter- 
ing, the serious, the lively, and the confidential; 
and as Luscombe appeared to Herbert to have ta- 
ken a very just estimate of the qualities and capaci- 
ty of Miss Hartley whom he evidently did not ad- 
mire, there arose a presumption that his observation 
might have been equally accurate upon this other 
point. Lacy, however, was quite satisfied with 
his confirmation of the unwelcome truth, without 
his endeavouring to promote it, which it seemed 
that, out of his great friendship, he was rather dis- 
posed to do. 

On entering the drawing-room, one day, Her- 
bert found Luscombe and Miss Hartley teh-d- 
tete, standing together near the fire, and apparent- 
ly earnestly engaged in conversation. As he 
entered the dialogue suddenly ceased. Miss Hart- 
ley turned away her head, blushed, seemed hur- 
ried, and soon left the room. Luscombe also co- 
loured slightly, and appeared for a moment ill at 
ease; but his usual smiling composure soon return- 
ed, and was perfectly re-established by the time 
that Miss Hartley had departed. 

We were talking about you,’’ said he to Lacy, 
with a good humoured look of significance. ‘‘ I 
was saying I thought you looked much better, 
and she said indeed she thought you did. She 
seemed very anxious about you: she asked me 
how long people generally were in recovering 
from a wound with a bullet, and I told her that it 
depended entirely upon the nature of the wound, 
and a variety of circumstances.” 

^‘In short you proved her question to be a 
silly one, and she was blushing at your reproof.” 

No, it was not exactly so. Just when you 
came in I was joking with her about a picture. 
We had found a head that she admired, and she 


HERBERT LACY. 59 

pretended not to see that there was any likeness 
in it to you, and so I was saying — 

‘‘ My dear fellow,^’ said Herbert, somewhat 
vexed, yet hardly knowing how to be angry, 
‘^pray don’t treat me with the whole detail. It 
was perhaps more than enough to have entertain- 
ed Miss Hartley with such a subject; I am "sure 
you can find much better ones for your tete-^-tetes 
than me.” 

Luscombe looked distressed at the observation. 

‘‘I did not mean to hurt you,” pursued Lacy. 
‘‘ I know what you did was well intended;” and 
here the conversation ceased. 

Lacy was not disposed to be credulous, and he 
would probably have withstood all this a?;^ray of 
looks, hints, and surmises, if he had not been still 
further urged onward to belief by the behaviour 
of Miss Hartley herself. There was an evident 
change in her manner: she used to be lively and 
thoughtless; she was now much graver in her gen- 
eral demeanour, and not unfrequently pensive, 
and abstracted. Towards him she no longer 
showed that almost sisterly frankness and familiar- 
ity which their long acquaintance had rendered 
natural. There was an additional shade of re- 
serve, and occasionlly a slight appearance of con- 
scious flutter and agitation, for which he knew not 
how to account by any other supposition than the 
one he dreaded. He had seen her blush when he 
approached, and withdraw her eyes when met by 
his; yet his society was by no means avoided; it 
rather seemed to be sought, as if more agreeable 
to her than ever. Her conscious timidity of man- 
ner seemed to increase, at the same time that 
she was lingering in his presence, and daily af- 
fording Itim additional opportunities for a tete-k- 
tete. 

On these ocasions Lacy sometimes observed that 


60 


HERBERT LACY. 


she was considerably abstracted, and much less at- 
tentive to what he said, than to something which 
she seemed desirous of saying herself. 

One day, when they were alone, Lacy was par- 
ticularly struck by these peculiarities in her man- 
ner, and by an increased appearance of anxious ab- 
straction. He began to talk to her, but found her 
too deeply engaged with her own thoughts to give 
him much of her attention. Thinking, therefore, 
that his conversation might be only an annoyance, 
he ceased, and taking up a book, began to read. 
He had not, however, been long thus engaged, 
when Miss Hartley, who would not attend to him 
before, now seemed anxious to draw him into con- 
versation. She cast several glances at his book, but 
Lacy did not seem to observe her, and read on in 
silence. 

Is that poetry ?” said she, at last, finding that 
looks were of no avail. 

‘‘No; humble prose,’^ said Lacy, “and of no 
very amusing kind.” 

“You like poetry best?” said Miss Hartley, 
inquiringly. 

“I hardly know,” replied Lacy; “perhaps it 
does give me most pleasure at the time; but I should 
no more wish to read only poetry, than to live upon 
nothing but peaches.” 

“Very true,” said Miss Hartley, as if she was 
not thinking about it; “and whose poetry is the 
best?” 

“ That is a question of mere taste, which nine 
persons out of ten might answer differently. To 
be sure, there are some few poets whom all would 
probably agree in classing among the first. Milton 
is one of them.” 

“ Ahl—yes. Milton — he wrote Paradise Lost. 
What a pity it is that Paradise Lost is so shock- 
ing!” 


HERBERT LACY. 


61 

you think it shocking?’^ replied Lacy, 
with a smile. 

Yes; it is all about — devils,’’ said she, lower- 
ing her voice at the last word, as if she thought it 
hardly a proper one. 

‘‘ Nay; not all,” said Lacy. There is some- 
thing about angels, too.” 

Is there ? well I read almost two whole can- 
tos, and it seemed to be all about devils. I was 
told it was quite a proper book, but I did not like 
to go on with it. It is not the sort of reading I 
prefer.” 

^‘And what sort do you prefer?” said Lacy, 
who anticipated some amusement from her opin- 
ions. 

Oh dear! I hardly know how to tell you;^ — 
yes, I think 1 like poetry that has more heart and 
feeling in it, and seems more natural and simple, and 
comes more home to one, and describes thoughts, 
and ideas, and situations that might happen to be 
one’s own.” 

^‘Like those in the Corsair and the Bride of 
Abydos ?” said Lacy, casting his eyes upon a vol- 
ume of Byron which lay on the table. 

‘‘Yes; that sort of thing,” she answered, very 
innocently, and with rather a hurried air, took up 
the book, as if in the hope that it would help her 
to arrange her thoughts. “ Ay, it is all very beau- 
tiful,” she continued, after she had turned over the 
leaves, abstractedly, for a few moments; “but that 
is not what I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“ Whatever it may be, I am all attention,” said 
Lacy. 

“Are you? Ah! but now don’t look so, and 
put on that sort of smile, as if you thought it was 
to be something amusing; indeed, I am going to 
be serious.” 

“And so am I; but you must give me time.” 

VoL. II. ' 6 


62 


HERBERT LACY. 


A short period of silence followed, which seem- 
ed to be employed by Miss Hartley in considering 
what she should say, as it was by Lacy in rumina- 
ting upon the singularity of her manner. She had, 
apparently, something to communicate, that she 
found a great difficulty in uttering, and she had been 
endeavouring to lead to it gradually and indirectly, 
and to gain courage by talking, till she could at 
length glide, without effort, into the midst of her 
agitating communication. This attempt had fail- 
ed, and the Genius of Poetry, though so ably in- 
voked, had refused to assist her. Apparently, how- 
ever, she could find no aid in any other quarter, 
for, after a short consideration, she returned to her 
former topic. 

<< We were talking,’’ said she about poetry, 
and you asked me what kind I preferred; and I 
told you I liked that which had most feeling in it. 
Now, I dare say, you wonder at my taste, but the 
the reason why I like that kind is, because I think 
it teaches one to know one’s own sentiments, 
and — and to describe them — and — and that is so 
difficult!” As she said this, she blushed and ut- 
tered a very gentle sigh. 

Excuse me if I differ from you,” said Lacy, 
rather surprised at the course which the conversa- 
tion was taking; “ but I think that poetry- of a 
highly-coloured and romantic class, indeed I may 
almost say, poetry in general, is rather likely to 
cause one to mistake the nature of one’s sentiments, 
than to improve the knowledge of them; and, as 
for describing them, I question whether the ex- 
pressions of a poet, however natural, and just, and 
forcible, are ever such as one should use in speak- 
of one’s feelings to another, or even in writing to 
a friend.” 

‘‘ Very tru6; I dare say you are right, and 
that is what makes it so difficult, for us especially; 


HERBERT LACY. 


63 


there are so many things that women cannot 
say.” 

‘‘ Undoubtedly,” replied Lacy, with increasing 
surprise; “there are many things which they can- 
not say — which they ought not to say. 

“Ought not — ay, that is what perplexes one. — 
Do you think,” she added, hesitatingly, and with 
greater agitation of manner, “ that it can ever be 
proper and allowable for women to express them- 
selves — I mean — I hardly know how to ask you — 
may they ever speak upon such a subject as their — 
their aidections ?” 

She coloured and hung down her head as she 
uttered these words, and Lacy was scarcely less 
embarrassed. 

“Strange!” thought he, “what can this tend 
to ? Surely she will not make me a declaration of 
love!” 

The import of her words, when he took into 
consideration all that he had been told of the state 
of her feelings, seemed to contenance this supposi- 
tion; and Lacy, with all his curiosity, was by no 
means anxious for such an eclaircissemenf. “ Re- 
ally,-^’ said he, “ I feel very incapable of answer- 
ing you; I should be rather presumptuous if I made 
myself a judge of the niceties of female conduct. 
I am sure you are more able to solve these difficul- 
ties than I can be. My opinion would not be 
worth your having.” 

“ Oh, I am sure your opinion is always very 
valuable to me. ” 

“ You do it too much honour to say so: it will 
always be at your service, when it can be of any 
avail. I am afraid,” he added, forcing a smile, 

in this instance, you would not find it of much 
use: I donT pique myself upon being a good casu- 
ist upon any point, especially upon one that does 
not rightfully belong to me. 


64 


HERBERT LACY. 


Lacy then changed the topic, and prevented all 
chance of a recurrence to the former one, by speed- 
ily quitting her presence. 

Lacy was perplexed and annoyed by the past in- 
terview; it removed the last veil of doubt which, 
thin, as it was, had still comforted him with some 
show of uncertainty with respect to Miss Hart- 
ley's unfortunate attachment. But now the fact 
was ascertained, and how was he to meet it ? He 
could not requite her affections; he could not fly 
her presence; he could not bear to blight her pas- 
sion by unkindness. 

In this state of perplexity he was accosted by 
his mother, who was glorying in that same convic- 
tion, which was causing such torment to her un- 
happy son. 

‘‘Well, Herbert, where is Charlotte?’^ were 
Lady Lacy’s first words. 

“The eternal subject!” murmured Herbert, de- 
spondingly; “I don’t know. Ma’am,” he answer-, 
ed, drily. 

“ Don’t know! Ah, Herbert, what would Char- 
lotte have said, if I had asked her where you 
were ?” 

“ I really cannot pretend to say,” replied he 
rather irritably; “pray don’t expect me to answer 
for Miss Hartley ?” 

“Well, I won’t; but now don’t look so angry, 
especially as you are talking about poor Charlotte. 
I am afraid you are unkind to her.” 

“Unkind! my dear mother, never! at least I 
am sure if I have, it has been quite unitentional- 
ly — I always wished to show her every possible 
civility.” 

“ Ay, ay! but that won’t do — it is past civility 
— you must show a great deal more now; indeed 
you must.” 

“ Must! — ma’am, why ?” 


HERBERT LACY. 


65 


Oh, I am confident you must. You know you 
cannot draw back — if people raise expectations, 
they ought to satisfy them.” 

Undoubtedly, ^y‘ they raise them — but I — ” 
Oh yes, indeed you’ have raised them ; at 
times you have been very attentive, and in public 
too, which made it more marked : you were so du- 
ring the races — I don’t remember whether or not 
at the Westcourt ball — you did not seem well at 
that Westcourt ballj but at the race ball, I noticed 
particularly, you were very attentive to her, and 
she looked so happy, poor thing!” 

‘‘I am very sorry, ma’am, — ” 

Sorry! that she was happy ?” 

Yes — if it arose from a delusion.” 

^‘Delusion, my dear Herbert! it is all delusion 
when people are in love.” 

I believe it is, too often,” said Herbert, whose 
thoughts returned to his own disappointment. 

“Oh, yes; but now, Herbert, I cannot think it 
would be right in you to do every thing you can 
to gain the poor thing’s affections, and then to turn 
your back upon her. 

“ Ma’am, I assure you, I have no such uncivil 
intentions; but I really don’t know what is the ev- 
ery-thing that I have done to gain Miss Hartley’s 
afiections.” 

“ Oh, Herbert, many things — I cannot describe 
them — but it was your manner, my dear, your 
manner. Others saw it as well as me, particularly 
at that ball : you know you danced with her twice, 
and you talked to her a great deal, and now you 
are always with her; and you have been wounded; 
and, what with one thing or another, I don’t won- 
der that it turns out as it has: you know I always 
said I thought she liked you. 

No more was said at the time, but Herbert 
thought long and anxiously on the subject. 

6 * 


66 


HERBERT LACY. 


Fool that I have been!’^ said he to himself, in 
the bitterness of self-reproach, ‘‘to have been so 
blind to my own conduct; so little conscious of 
what I was doing. It seems then, that I have en- 
snared against my will, the affections of a person 
whose attachment I can never return, and I have 
done this so pointedly, that my conduct and its ten- 
dency were visible to many. I remember that fa- 
tal ball. I was galled by the coldness of one whom 
I ought to have avoided, instead of courting her at- 
tention, like a madman as I was. I ought to have 
profited by her noble example; but I was piqued 
and irritated, and tried to cover my chagrin under 
false gaiety and attention to others; and then I 
raised false expectations — yes, it is fit it should have 
been then. It was a moment of shameful folly and 
forgetfulness, and it has brought its just and bitter 
consequences. I have deceived Charlotte Hartley, 
and I must repair the wrong: my hand is all that 
I can give, and I will give it. I can never feel 
any love for her; but I will be very kind to her, 
and — I must forget Agnes, if I can.^^ 


HERBERT LACY. 


67 


CHAPTER Vlir. 


Your virtues, gentle master. 

Are sanctified and holy traitors to you. 

Jls Yoti Like If. 

In this state of mind, he sought the counsel of 
his sister, whom he wished to make the depository 
of his sorrows, and perhaps the medium of his in- 
tended sacrifice. He found her a willing confidant; 
indeed, she was secretly a joyful one; she found 
that the important -moment had arrived, and that 
it only remained for her to strike the blow that was 
to crown her plans with success. 

She listened to Herbert’s communication with 
much appearance of affectionate interest. 

My dear brother,” said she, when he had 
ended, ‘‘ I sincerely regret the unfortunate course 
which circumstances have taken; nor do 1 enter- 
tain the slightest doubt that they are as we fear. — 
It is as certain that Charlotte is attached to you, as 
that you are not attached to her. I am afraid too, 
that it is equally certain, that you (though uninten- 
tionally) have encouraged that attachment; indeed 
you are conscious of it yourself : your own hon- 
ourable feelings have already dictated the only am- 
ple reparation.” 

<^Yes,” said Lacy, mournfully, ‘^I know the 
sacrifice that I ought to make, and I now wish to 
ask you to be the bearer of my proposals. I know 
it is a singular request; but I cannot play the suitor 


6S 


HERBERT LACY. 


myself: I should only distress her by my coldness, 
and betray the secret of my real indifference. Will 
you grant me this favour 

His sister hesitated. I would willingly do 
this, and more for you,^^ said she; but let us first 
be certain that it is necessary. Herbert, I may 
safely say to you that I like this match almost as 
little as you do yourself. I should wish to see you 
married, but not to Charlotte. I will say it, 
though she is my husband’s sister. She is a good 
girl, and I dare say would prove an amiable and 
comfortable wife; but she is not such to you. 
There is too great a difference in your minds; they 
would have nothing in common — in fact I know 
you despise her.” 

‘Despise’ is a harsh word.” 

“Yes, but no the less true. Let us be honest — it 
is no time, my dear brother, for me to be picking 
phrases when your happiness is at stake. Yours 
and Charlotte’s would be an unequal marriage, and 
I am sure that all such marriages are more or less 
productive of unhappiness, whatever the inequali- 
ty be — whether of age, rank, fortune, or mind. 
You could never make a companion of Charlotte, 
nor could she appreciate you as you deserve. — 
There would be little communion or confidence, 
and without confidence a married life must be one 
of misery.” 

“I see it, and feel it bitterly,” said Herbert, in 
a tone of despair; “ but pray spare me this pros- 
pect, unless you can do any thing to remedy the 
evil.” 

“ I trust ! can. I should not have spoken un- 
less I had some hopes of assisting you. With eve- 
ry wish that you should do what is right, I cannot 
think that an immediate offer of marriage is neces- 
sary. Charlotte is’ certainly much attached to 
you; but she is of such a disposition that I think 


HERBERT LACY. 


69 


felie would be quite satisfied with a continuance of 
the brotherly and sisterly footing on which you 
now associate, if she could be assured that it was 
lasting, and that she should not be supplanted by 
any one else. She has a very reasonable difii- 
dence in her power of fixing your affections, and a 
considerable jealousy of disposition; and I think if 
this was appeased by any declaration on your part 
— by an engagement, let us say — by a proposal of 
marriage at some distant, unspecified period: — I, 
think there would then be some ground for hope 
that in time her attachment would be so far cool- 
ed, that you might withdraw yourself with per- 
fect ease, and without any violence to her feelings.^’ 

Herbert’s countenance alternately brightened and 
clouded over at this proposal. 

If you tell me,” said he, that such an en- 
gagement would be satisfactory to Miss Hartley, 
I am sure I can believe you, for I do not think you 
would speak without sufficient grounds; and I am 
sure that any such postponement will be a great 
relief to me: but I do not know how I can frame 
such a proposal. How can I seem at once anxious 
and reluctant — to wish the marriage, and not to 
wish it?” 

Leave that to me. You know you have asked 
me to bear your proposals, and I have undertaken 
the office. There are no difficulties of any mo- 
ment.” 

‘‘But,” said Herbert, “I don’t quite like the 
idea of making an engagement which is not to be 
fulfilled. It seems deceitful.” 

“ My dear Herbert, you* deceive yourself. It 
is to be fulfilled — provisionally-— it is to be fulfilled 
at some future time, in case that she should still 
continue to testify the same feelings. I cannot for 
an instant suppose that you have any, intention of 
withdrawing from your contract, or that you 


70 


HERBERT LACY. 


would scruple to fulfil it, if you saw that nothing 
less sufficed to satisfy her mind. ’’ 

^^You do me no more than justice,” replied 
Herbert. 

Of that I am sure,” said his sister. ‘‘ But if 
you wish to put the proposal upon a different foot- 
ing, I think I can arrange it, so as to spare you 
the pain of feeling that the marriage is deferred 
solely by yourself. I will say generally that you 
wish to consider yourself engaged to Charlotte 
until she may choose to dissolve the engagement. 
Yes, yes, it shall be so. I am sure that will be 
satisfactory. Nay, it will show even more con- 
sideration for her, by placing the liberty of retract- 
ing solely in her power. It will effectually relieve 
her from the dread of being supplanted by any one 
else, and that, to her timid mind, is the chief source 
of anxiety. The engagement will subsist for a 
while, till at last it is quietly dissolved, without 
surprise or sorrow to either of you. As for the 
delay of your marriage, there will be nothing in 
that to excite astonishment, or require explanation. 
Marriages are constantly deferred, without any 
but the parties concerned knowing why. Law 
and a thousand family arrangements may intervene 
to delay a marriage, and who knows the particulars 
or would even have the patience to hear them ? 
No — the fact of an engagement is all that the gos- 
siping public care about. The time is comparative- 
ly immaterial. But I must perform my mission 
while it is fresh in my mind. Farewell for the 
present: you shall soon hear the result of my ne- 
gotiations.” 

That result he soon heard, and he was told that 
it was very satisfactory; that Miss Hartley had 
received the communication with all proper blush- 
ing confusion, and that though she had said little 
to the purpose, she had looked every thing that she 


HERBERT LACY. 


71 


ought. To Lady Lacy, the result of this long 
cherished affair, proved not entirely agreeable; and 
it required a good deal of dexterous management 
on the part of Mrs. Hartley to prevent her from 
destroying that state of neutrality in which, through 
her ingenuity, thp. parties had been placed. Nei- 
ther Sir William Lacy nor Charles Hartley contri- 
buted any visible influence. The former refused 
to give any attention to the subject, merely saying 
that Herbert might act precisely as he felt inclined. 
As for the latter, he was quite contented to adopt, 
without inquiry, any opinion his lady might ex- 
press. 

Mrs. Hartley reviewed the circumstances with 
all the complacency of a successful plotter. She 
had succeeded in fixing upon her brother and sis- 
ter-in-law, a yoke which she trusted might keep 
them long unmarried. She could not feel any cer- 
tainty of the long continuance of the present safe- 
guard; but it was something gained; and let it only 
exist for a few years, and she trusted that such ha- 
bits of celibacy would be formed as it would be no 
very difficult matter to perpetuate. Let them only 
remain single, and their fortunes, at their death, 
would centre in her children : at least she had eve- 
ry reason to hope that, with proper management, 
such might be the result. One of the two, she flat- 
tered herself, could hardly escape her toils. She 
was most anxious about her brother, for Charlotte’s 
fortune was small in comparison with his expecta- 
tions, and she felt that over him she possessed a 
very limited control. 

Notwithstanding her pretences, she was by no 
means convinced that Charlotte was attached to 
Herbert, and she felt that she was grossly deceiv- 
ing him in assuming that conviction. The cruelty 
of the imposition which she had practised, and the 
engagement into which she had led him, also struck 


HERBERT LACY. 


7S 

her with a momentary pang. But she tried to sti- 
fle these upbraidings of her conscience, by a false 
persuasion of duty. If it is an injury to some,’^ 
said she to herself, ‘‘it is for the benefit of others, 
that are still dearer to me. I do it for the good of 
my children. Surely their welfare should be the 
first object of a mother.^' 

This was mere sophistry, and she knew it — yet 
it seemed to afibrd some satisfaction. To whom is 
sophistry not welcome in cases such as these ? It 
is the universal panacea of guilt; and like an opiate, 
is greedily received as a soothing balm, by those 
who still know it to be poison. 


HERBERT LACY. 


73 


’chapter IX. 


A popular license is indeed the many-headed tyrant. 

Sir Philip Sidhey. 

Three months now passed without the occurs 
rcnce of any event that tended to produce a mate- 
l ial alteration in the situation of the parties already 
mentioned. The engagements of Agnes to Sack- 
ville, and of Lacy to Miss Hartley, still continued 
in undiniinished force. The only changes that did 
take place, were slow and progressive. Lacy gra- 
dually regained his strength, Sackville’s visits be- 
came less frequent, Mr. Morton suspended his in- 
quiries, and the intercourse between the families at 
Lacy and Dodswell, seemed likely to become as 
cold and slight as it had been before- 

Mr. Morton’s manner had received an Unfortu- 
nate change. He was out of spirits, and was grave 
and more than usually irritable, and seemed to 
have been soured by adverse circumstances. Some 
traced these appearances to the duel ; while others, 
with more truth, hinted at the possible derange- 
ment of his affairs. This latter opinion, however, 
was not justified by any alteration in his state of 
living, or the retrenchment of previous expenses. 
It was rather to be collected from the uneasiness 
and impatience which he occasionally manifested, 
when any word was dropped in his presence, that 
had a reference to expenditure or retrenchment, 
and the anxious look with which he seemed to in- 
VoL. II. 7 


74 


HERBERT LACY. 


quire, whether any thing contained in the expres- 
sion was levelled at him. 

It was about four months after the duel, and ear- 
ly in the ensuing year, that the public were inform- 
ed of the sudden death of one of the representa- 
tives of the borough of Wichcombe. Wichcombe 
was a close borough, the nomination to which was 
shared by Lord Rodborough, with a wealthy com- 
moner. The gentleman who died, had been Lord 
Rodborough^s nominee; and his sudden decease, 
which Lord Rodborough protested to be very in- 
convenient, reduced him to the immediate necessity 
of looking out for some other person to fill that situ- 
ation. His two sons were already in parliament, 
and so were most of his relations; and, after much 
consideration, he could think of no person so ap- 
parently eligible to such a post as Mr. Morton. 
He could not hope that he would be quite so sub- 
servient as the late member, who, having no sort 
of political opinion himself, implicitly followed 
every hint of his patron: but Mr. Morton was the 
father-in-law of Lord Malvern, and a man well 
known to the world ; and was a very natural, and 
respectable object of choice. 

The proposal was made, and, as it was dexter- 
ously done, in a manner flattering to Mr. Morton^s 
pride, he readily acceded to .it. Perhaps it would 
be unfair to inquire whether he was actuated by 
the prospect of obtaining the personal security af- 
forded by the privilege of parliament. The ques- 
tion of expenses was afterwards to be discussed; 
and it was treated by Mr. Morton with an affected 
carelessness, and an impatience, which did not es- 
cape the keen observation of Lord Rodborough ’s 
agent. He was probably induced to take advan- 
tage of it, for he proposed and obtained the singu- 
lar conditions, that though the whole of the slight 
expenses of an uncontested election should be borne 


HERBERT LACY. 


75 


by Lord Rodborough, yet that in the event of a 
contest, he should contribute only a half, and that 
the remainder should be borne by Mr. Morton. 

However, as no contest was then in prospect, 
it seemed as if such an agreement might be made 
with perfect safety ; and Mr. Morton, having once 
consented to stand for the borough, did not like to 
retract upon a mere point of expense. Whether 
the truth was known to the agent of Lord Rodbo- 
rough, is more than we can venture to say; but 
certainly at that time, a contest was more than 
merely probable. The late member, though en- 
joying a reasonable share of personal popularity, 
had excited discontent, by his maintenance of 
principles which were at variance with those of 
the majority of his constituents; and as his princi- 
ples (if they might be so called) were known to be 
precisely those of Lord Rodborough, it was to be 
apprehended that the same were to be looked for 
in any fresh member of his appointment. Many 
of the burgesses had expressed considerable discon- 
tent at the state of thraldom in which they were 
held, and the present vacancy was thought a desi- 
rable opportunity for ascerting their rights to the 
liberty of choosing for themselves. 

The result of their deliberations, was a determi- 
nation to seek immediately a champion for their 
cause; and on the day following Mr. Morton’s ac- 
ceptance of the proposals of Lord Rodborough, 
a deputation was on its way to Lacy Park, for 
the object of inviting either Sir William or his 
son to undertake the representation of the Bo- 
rough of Wichcombe, and holding out, at the same 
time, flattering prospects of easy success. The 
result of the negociations between Lord Rodbo- 
rough and Mr. Morton, was not, at that time, made 
known, nor had the little fronde of non conform- 
ing burgesses, made any formal signification of 


76 


HERBERT LACY. 


their measures previous to that very day. Sir 
William Lacy and his son, were, therefore, in 
complete ignorance of the part undertaken by Mr. 
Morton. 

For himself. Sir William declined the offer of 
the burgesses, but expressed a wish that his son 
might be accepted in his stead; and Herbert, in 
accordance with the wishes both of his father and 
of the deputation, consented to undertake the 
charge. His sentiments coincided with those of 
his inviters, and he felt that he could, with honour 
and consistency, become their representative. 
With every proper feeling of humility, he was 
also conscious that he had sufficient talent to do 
justice to their confidence, and to obtain some cre- 
dit to himself; and he possessed that energy of 
character, which rendered the prospect of honour- 
able exertion rather agreeable, than unpleasing to 
him. In politics he was not a bigot or an enthusi- 
ast. He was neither an humble worshipper of 
power, nor a heated admirer of the principles of 
republicanism. He was liberal in the truest sense, 
for he was willing to find, in every system, some 
admixture of good; and, with all proper abhor- 
rence of that which was faulty, he was, fortunate- 
ly, exempt from that angry intolerance witli 
w'hich the profession of liberality is too often ac- 
companied. 

The printed addresses of Lacy and Mr. Mor- 
ton came out on the same day. They contained 
little more than a brief expj'ession of the hopes 
and intentions of the respective candidates, and 
scarcely entered into any exposition of their poli- 
tical sentiments. It soon, however, came to be 
understood that little diversity would exist be- 
tween them, except on one question — that of 
Catholic Emancipation. Lacy was known to be 
favourable to it; Mr. Morton, as the nominee 


HERBERT LACY. 77 

of Lord Rodborough, was concluded to be ad- 
verse. 

Much surprise, and some feeling of repugnance 
and regret, were testified by each of the candi- 
dates, on finding to whom they were to be oppo- 
sed. They felt that they were unpleasantly situa- 
ted; and that their present opposition coming so 
soon after their duel, and being their first public 
act that succeeded it, would seem to argue a de- 
gree of confirmed hostility, which they were, each 
of them, far from entertaining. It may easily be 
imagined, that Lacy was sensibly grieved at the 
prospect of further dissension with the father of 
Agnes; nor was Mr. Morton altogether without 
some compunctious visitings, on finding himself 
again the opponent of one whom he felt that he 
had injured. 

But neither of them could now contract. Mr. 
Morton was pledged to Lord Rodborough, and 
Lacy to the Wichcombe burgesses; and, though 
he could perhaps have convinced them privately 
of the propriety of his wishes for retiring, he had 
no such plea as he could safely publish to the 
world, or which would not be exposed to mali- 
cious and discreditable interpretations. He wrote a 
short and amicable letter to Mr. Morton, declaring 
his entire freedom from all remains of hostile feel- 
ing; his ignorance of the fact of having him for 
an opponent, until he was pledged beyond pos- 
sibility of receding ; and his hope, that the situ- 
ation in which they were now placed, would be 
attended with no unfavourable change of senti- 
ment. 

The answer from IMr. Morton was expressed in 
handsome terms, and was quite satisfactory to the 
feelings of Lacy; and here their communication 
ceased, each being sensible that they had a duty 
to fulfil towards their supporters, which forbade 
1 * 


7S 


HERBERT LACY. 


them to excite in their minds the suspicion of a 
collusive intercourse, and of any disposition to 
secret coalition, and to a barter of the public duty 
which they had undertaken at the shrine of their 
own private friendship. The canvass was com- 
menced, and as the number of electors was small, 
it was soon completed; and each candidate, strong 
in promises of support which seemed to ensure to 
each a majority, calmly awaited the opening of the 
contest. 

At length, the day of nomination arrived. The 
show of hands was pronounced to be in favour of 
Mr. Morton, and Lacy immediately deman- 
ded a poll. The poll was opened, and the modern 
Saturnalia began. 

An election is a spectacle calculated to inspire 
an Englishman at once with pride and shame. 
For the entertainment of feelings of shame and 
disgust, there is assuredly ample ground. The 
rancour, the prejudice, the corruption, the hypo- 
crisy, the most open venality disgustingly coupled 
with an affectation of principle and public spirit, 
and the exercise of a legal right brought into im- 
mediate connection with an unblushing breach of 
the established law — these are among the many 
traits that justify such an unfavourable feeling. 
But there is also much wherein to exult, not only 
in contemplating the constitutional advantages and 
the dissemination of general confidence which 
must result from the exercise of such a right, but 
in considering that however great may be the dis- 
orders which accompany it, and seem almost to 
neutralize its benefits, those disorders can be safely 
permitted; that there is a vigorous elasticity in the 
organization of the system which enables it to re- 
gain its course unhurt; that the apparently disuni- 
ted links of the great chain which extends in nice 
gradation from the beggar to the monarch, are re- 


HERBERT LACY. 


19 


stored unbroken to their original connection j and 
that when the tumult has subsided, not a particle 
is found to have been dissolved of that finest fabric 
of human society that the world has ever seen. 

The contest was attended with most of the cir- 
cumstances by which contests are generally charac- 
terized. Processions, swelled by a rabble who 
liad no other meaps of taking a part in the election 
than by increasing its riot, paraded the streets in 
rival parties, bearing colours and flags, and headed by 
discordant bands of tipsy musicians. “ Lacy and 
Independence,” was the rallying cry of one par- 
ty; and Morton and Constitution,” “ Church and 
King,” and No Popery,” were the watch-words 
of the other; and by dint of these, and the 
united flow of all the tap-rooms in Wichcombe, 
they were animated into a spirit of contentious val- 
our which called more than once for the interpo- 
sition of the authorities of the place. 

The danger of a broken head did not extend, as 
is sometimes the case, to the candidates themselves; 
but they could not, of course, escape the usual in- 
fliction of election squibs. Bibs, leading-strings, 
and horn-books were exhibited in derision of Lacy’s 
youth; and Old iron to sell!” was the annoying 
cry which frequently greeted the appearance of 
Mr. Morton. It had been the aim of each candi- 
date, and particularly of Lacy, to avoid every 
symptom of personal hostility, and soften by a 
show of courtesy in public the menacing appearance 
of their respective positions. It therefore became 
to him a matter of no slight uneasiness, when he 
found that his supporters were but too ready to 
attribute to him all the coarse rancour which they 
were pleased to exhibit towards those of the oppo- 
site party, and that they indulged in broad 
public allusions to the circumstances of the duel. 
So interesting a fact, when once adverted to, was 


80 


HERBERT LACY. 


not likely to be allowed to slumber. Some pug- 
nacious spirits began to flatter themselves with a 
hope of the contest being graced with the eclat of 
of another meeting. The genius of poetry pre- 
sently lent its aid; and on the third morning of the 
poll, rival ballad-singers were chaunting in dogged 
rhyme their perverted accounts of the duel of the 
candidates. 

Under these unpleasant circumstances did Lacy 
meet his opponent on the hustings on the third 
morning of the poll. He knew not in what res- 
pect Mr. Morton was affected by the expressions 
of the populace, but he thought there was some- 
thing more than usually chafed and haughty in his 
manner. This, however, could make no alteration 
in the sentiments of Lacy, or in the line which he 
meant to pursue. He felt that he owed him no 
further explanation, but that whatever he might 
say respecting their mutual situation, should be ad- 
dressed less to him than to the public. He felt 
that some correction of their erroneous opinions 
was desirable; and, accordingly after a few remarks 
upon the state of the poll, and some political topics 
which had been previously adverted to, he proceed- 
ed to address them as follows: — 

And now, gentlemen, allow me to turn for a 
few moments to circumstances of a private nature, 
circumstances which concern not only myself, but 
my honorable opponent also; and which I should 
therefore not feel justified in publicly mentioning 
if they had not already, and in a manner painful 
to my feelings, and doubtless to his, been obtruded 
upon yournotice. I allude,gentlemen,to the hostility 
which at one time existed between Mr. Morton 
and myself. 1 have seen with pain that an impres- 
sion is prevalent that it still exists; and I now ad- 
dress you in the hope of removing that impression, 
by distinctly assuring you that all such hostility 


HERBERT LACY. 


81 


has ceased. It ceased from the moment of our 
meeting; in me it has never been renewed, and I 
have the pleasure of thinking that no returning 
spark of it lias actuated any part of the subsequent 
conduct of my honourable opponent. 

I am unwilling, gentlemen, that any one here 
present should think so meanly of me as to sup- 
pose that feelings of private resentment can enter 
into the motives of my present course. When I 
first aspired to the honour of being your represen- 
tative, it was in the perfect ignorance of who my 
opponent might be, or whether any would present 
himself. I undertook the charge in the conviction 
that you had a right to contend for an independent 
vehicle of your sentiments; and I feel that I should 
be disgracing that good cause, if I were to admit 
the nnworthy influence of private pique. 

‘^Mr. Morton hears me, but I address this 
avowal solely to you. That gentleman, I am well 
persuaded, stands in no need of such an explana- 
tion. , My sentiments are already known to him, 
and it is in his power to corroborate my present 
statement. I am confident that our private feel- 
ings are and will be as strictly amicable as our pub- 
lic conduct will be that of honour; and in the assu- 
rance of this, and in the presence of you all, I here 
offer him my hand.” 

Loud acclamations followed the close of this ad- 
dress. Mr. Morton took the proffered hand, 
and in a frank and cordial manner briefly expres- 
sed his entire approval and unqualified confirma- 
tion of Lacy’s words. Mr. Morton then repair- 
ed from the hustings to a dinner, attended by most 
of the principal electors. He was in good spirits 
in spite of the unpromising results of the poll, 
cheered apparently by the manly and amicable de • 
claration of his opponent, with whom the appear- 
ance of a returning state of hostility had begun to 
weigh heavy on his mind. 


82 


HERBERT LACT. 


The sitting was long and jovial; all where of one 
party and of one mind; and as there was nobody 
present to contradict any of their assertions, they 
soon found themselves in a condition to talk their 
opponents out of every possible chance of success. 
Healths were drunk, and thanks returned, and a 
profusion of high-sounding truisms were the cus- 
tomary result. 

In the midst of this joyous career, when the up- 
roar of a Three times three had nearly subsi- 
ded, and the glasses were still jingling on the ta- 
ble, a servant entered and put a small note into the 
hand of Mr. Morton. He opened it carelessly, 
but no sooner had he cast his eyes upon the con- 
tents than he turned pale, his lips quivered, his 
hand trembled, and he sat the picture of embarrass- 
ment and dismay. In another moment he had torn 
it, and thrown it into the fire, replied only with a 
glance of anger to the ‘‘No bad news, I hope, 
Sir?’^ of an honest burgess near him, whispered 
to the gentleman at his side a request that he would 
take his place, and then, after a scarcely articulate 
apology for leaving the company, he rose and has- 
tily quitted the room. A dead silence followed 
his departure, and curiosity and consternation were 
painted in the countenances of all present. At 
length curiosity so far triumphed as to induce them 
to commission one of their number to make inqui- 
ries, and to see Mr. Morton, if possible. He re- 
turned with the information that Mr. Morton was 
writing, and would not be disturbed. They soon 
learnt that a messenger was despatched to Lord 
Rodborough, and shortly afterwards, that Mr. Mor- 
ton himself was on his way to Dodswell. 


HERBERT LACY. 


83 


CHAPTER X. 


That which gilded o’er his imperfections 
Is wasted and consumed, even like ice. 

Which, by the vehemence of heat, dissolves 
And glides to many rivers; so his wealth 
That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense. 

Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers 
Ran, like a violent stream, to other men’s. 

Cooke. — Greens' s Tu ^oque. 

We shall now transfer our readers to Dodswell, 
and prepare them, by a recital of previous circum- 
stances, for the arrival of Mr. Morton. The only 
persons then at Dodswell were Lady Louisa, Ag- 
nes, and her younger sister Marianne; Lord and 
Lady Malvern were visiting in another county, 
and Sackville, fifty miles off, at his own place. — 
Mr. Morton, since the’ opening of the poll, had 
been staying at Wichcombe, from whence he had 
transmitted to his family daily accounts of the pro- 
gress of the election. Lady Louisa was as much 
interested as she could be with any thing beyond 
the imaginary vicissitudes of her own tardy con- 
valescence, and could but little sympathize with 
the anxiety of Agnes, who paid an earnest atten- 
tion to the contest, and saw, in the present opposi- 
tion of her father and Lacy, continual grounds for 
apprehension. 

It was in the afternoon of the day on which we 
have seen Mr. Morton so abruptly quit the com- 


84 


HERBERT LACY. 


j'any of his supporters, that Agues was sitting 
alone at Dodswell, in a room, the projecting win- 
dow of which, commanded a view of the shrub- 
bery, and of a private door which led to it from 
the house. The short winter’s day was drawing 
to a close, and as the shades began to darken, she 
looked out with a corresponding spirit of gloom 
at the cheerless prospect. In so doing, she observ- 
ed three men of ordinary appearance, enveloped 
in great coats, and with riding whips in their hands, 
pass along the shrubbery walk, and after looking 
about them for a moment, enter at the private door. 
She was struck with the unusual unceremonious- 
ness of their mode of entrance, but knowing that 
electors, in the time of a contest, are apt to dis- 
pense with ordinary rules, she immediately con- 
ceived them to be three of the independent bur- 
gesses, who were bent upon showing their attach- 
ment to liberty and their candidate, by making his 
house their own. Under this persuasion, and anx- 
ious to receive the latest accounts of the progress 
of the election, she rang, and desired to know 
what report the persons who had just arrived had 
brought from Wichcombe. It was long before the 
servant returned with an answer to this inquiry, 
and when he did come, it Was evident by his mys- 
terious looks and troubled manner, that he was not 
the bearer of agreeable tidings. 

He said they were not from Wichcombe; he 
could not pretend to say exactly from whence they 
came; he could not be quite sure whether they 
wanted his master; he hoped not, but he supposed 
they would stay till he returned. 

“ This is very strange,” thought Agnes, struck 
both by the words and manner of the speaker, and 
feeling her apprehensions rapidly increase. “ Some- 
thing unpleasant has happened,” said she to the 
servant, “ and you do not like to inform me of it. 


HERBERT LACY^ 


85 


Speak, boldly — I can bear to hear it. Who arc 
these people ?” 

‘‘ Well, then. Ma’am, if I must speak — they 
are the bailifis;” and then came out the whole truth 
— there was an execution in the house. 

Agnes did not scream or faint, though the shock 
was one of the greatest she had experienced. She 
sat in pale, agitated silence, listening, to the infor- 
mation which the servant, after the removal of the 
first awful difficulty, was perfectly willing to give. 
It appeared that the writ was issued at the suit of a 
man, whose brother-in-law was a burgess of Wich- 
combe, and voted against Mr. Morton. 

Informed of this, Agnes, without delay, despatch- 
ed a messenger to her father, with that note which 
had summoned him so abruptly from the presence 
of his supporters. She then turned her attention 
to the distressing question of the course she should 
adopt with respect to her mother, and doubted 
whether she should immediately inform Lady 
Louisa of what had occurred, or conceal the fact 
till the arrival of Mr. Morton. A short considera- 
tion induced her to attempt the latter course. She 
dreaded the moment when the truth should be 
made known to her. She was aware that the shock 
would be more severe to Lady Louisa, than it had 
been to herself. She had long suspected the de- 
rangement of her father’s affairs, though it was a 
subject on which she had never dared to speak, 
even to the extent of hinting at the desirableness 
of economy. But Lady Louisa had no such sus- 
picions, nor would it have been easy to inspire her 
with them, for though not of a cheerful tempera- 
ment, she had that timidity of character which in- 
duced her ever to shut her eyes to alarming truths; 
and her passiveness was allied rather to indolence, 
than to that stoical composure that would fit her to 
bear the blow with firmness. 

VoL. II. 8 


86 


HERBERT LACT. 


The kind and judicious plans of Agnes, with a? 
view to spare her the pain of a hasty discovery^ 
were unhappily frustrated. She had been prema- 
turely informed, through the babbling imprudence 
of her favourite attendant^ and Agnes on entering 
her room, had the pain of seeing her sink down 
in a fit under the shock of the first discovery. She 
soon recovered her senses, and long were the dis- 
tressing and unavailing lamentations which Agnes 
was doomed to hear; and frequent were the de- 
mands for explanations which she was not yet en- 
abled to give. Lady Louisa, who considered it 
proper on so serious an occasion, to be more than 
usually ill, and thought herself unequal, even to the 
exertion of lying on a sofa, had retired early to rest, 
when Agnes was led to prepare for the approach- 
ing interview with her father, who, she was told, 
had arrived, and desired to see her in his own sit- 
tir room. 



When she entered, Mr. Morton was sitting de- 
jectedly at a table, his face concealed by the hand 
on which it rested. He gave a short side glance 
to ascertain who it was, and then, without uttering 
a word, or removing the hand that shaded his eyes 
he extended to her the other. She took it in si- 
lence, and returned its tremulous, feverish pressure. 
He drew her towards him, and she rested her 
head upon his shoulder. It was a moment of bit- 
ter emotion, and the first tears which she had shed 
since she heard of this new calamity, now fell 
from her cheeks. He perceived them, and acknowl- 
edged, by a short and impressive embrace, this 
mark of her condolence, and then motioned her to 
sit beside him. He again took her hand, but 
some moments elapsed before he spoke. 

‘‘ I need not tell you what has happened,^^ were 
his first words, you know all — you know that I 
am a beggar. I have suffered for years more than 


HERBERT LACT. 


87 


I can describe, for the sake of maintaining appear- 
ances, and this is the end of all my labours! and 
at what a time has the blow fallen! — in. the midst 
of this election! Agnes, you look as if you would 
fain ask me why I engaged in that election — and 
well may you ask me ! It was the desperate plan of 
a ruined man to hoodwink the world ; to bolster up 
his falling credit; to gain a fresh claim to consider- 
ation, when he felt he was losing all his former 
ones. It was because I could not assign the true 
reason for a refusal, and because I wished to de- 
ceive even myself with the eclat of a little false 
prosperity; but did I ? — no, no, no—Heaven only 
knows what I suffered; but now I am embarkedj 
and I must still go on, if I can get the assistance I 
want. I have written to Lord Rodborough — I am 
anxious for his answer.’^ 

Agnes looked at him earnestly, as if she wished 
to speak, but was almost fearful of addressing him. 

I am your daughter,” said she, and I feel as 
if all I have ought to be yours. Under present 
circumstances, I can hardly wish the election to 
proceed ; but if you feel that your honour requires 
it, and I can command any money — ” 

‘‘Thanks, thanks, my dear child, but you can- 
not assist me. Even if I had the wish (which I 
have not) to squander your fortune on myself, I 
could not do it without the consent of your trus- 
tees, and that would be, and ought to be withheld. 
Besides they are at a distance, and immediate help 
is what I require.” 

At this moment a letter was brought in — it was 
the answer from Lord Rodborough. Mr. Mor- 
ton eagerly took it, and began to read it aloud to 
his daughter. It ran thus: 

“My dear Sir, — I am much surprised and con- 
cerned at the contents of your note. Whatever 
my suspicions might have been, I had no idea that 


88 


HERBERT LACY. 


you were so far involved as you now confess your- 
self to be, and I cannot help thinking myself ra- 
ther ill-used in not having been made acquainted 
with the state of your circumstances, when you 
engaged to become my nominee for Wichcombe. 
I like openness on many accounts, and flatter my- 
self that I am not altogether, unworthy being 
trusted. You are my candidate, and your defal- 
cation will prove very inconvenient to me, as 
there is now no time to engage another. I am 
therefore inclined to make the best of a bad bar- 
gain, and must consequently desire Mr. 

Morton coultj read no longer, but tore in pieces 
the insulting letter and threw it into the fire. 

‘‘Insolent, selfish fool!^^ he exclaimed, with a 
countenance inflamed with indignation, “ does he 
think me his slave ? Gracious God ! have I labour- 
ed for no better end than to be viewed in such a 
light as this ? To what have I exposed myself! 
but I will not bear it another moment. No: 
Lord Rodborough’s humble tool will be no longer 
subservient to his lordship’s views — I give up the 
contest. Inconvenient to him ! not one word of com- 
passion for my misfortune! Pshaw! compassion! 
what am I thinking of? thank God he did not of- 
fer it! I am insulted enough without it.” 

He then sat down, and wrote a short letter. It 
was to the returning officer of Wichcombe, stating 
that he declined the contest. He then commen- 
ced another, when Agnes, who feared that her 
presence might be irksome to him ; rose, and was 
about to retire. He begged her to remain, and 
said that he was going to write very briefly to 
Lord Rodborough. This intimation was fortu- 
nate; Agnes looked at his irritated countenance, 
and approached him with an air of mild expostu- 
lation. 

“ My dear father,” said she, “ do not think me 


HERBERT LACY. 


too bold, if I beg of you as a favour not to return 
an immediate answer to Lord Rodborough. You 
are angry with him, and very justly, but his rude- 
ness may now appear to you deserving of a more 
severe notice than you may afterwards think it 
worthy of. He has no right to expect so imme- 
diate a reply — pray defer it till to-morrow.’’ 

Mr. Morton smiled, and pushed the paper from 
him. ‘‘ You are quite right,” said he: ‘‘ I was on 
the point of saying what perhaps I could not have 
reflected on with as much pleasure as I can on 
this,” and he laid his hand on the note that con- 
tained his resignation. He covered his eyes for 
a few minutes, as if engaged in thought, and then 
looked up with a composed and almost cheerful 
countenance. How wonderful,” said Mr. Mor- 
ton, are the changes of one’s feelings under the 
trials of misfortune, and how beneficial to us often- 
times are seeming evils! You do not know the 
load that is taken off my mind. You could not 
conceive it, unless you were aware of what I have 
suflered during many years past — I feel like a 
prisoner let out of jail — I am relieved at last 
from the terrible yoke of supporting false appearan- 
ces. Oh, my dear daughter, if your poor father has 
seemed too often harsh and capricious, attribute 
much of his waywardness to this curse that hung 
over him. Perhaps I ought not to plead it as an 
excuse, because I brought it on myself; but I am 
confident that many of the defects of temper, of 
which I am conscious, have been aggravated by 
my circumstances. Of all poisons to one’s happi- 
ness, one of the most deadly, is a continual strug- 
gle to seem what one is not. Think what it must 
be to a person of honourable feelings, to be con- 
tinually sensible that his whole conduct is a prac- 
tical lie, and that he is endeavouring to affirm by 
deed, what he would scorn to utter in words — 
8 * 


90 


HERBERT LACY. 


what he could not utter without exposing himself 
to one of the worst insults that a man can receive 
— yet this I did, and still felt that I had an equal 
right to resist the slighest impeachment of my ho- 
nour. What a mere paradox is human conduct, 
if one could sift it to the bottom, and see all its 
contradictory motives! Now, at last, I seem to 
understand myself. My real prosperity has long 
been gone I am glad the bubble is gone too — Ad- 
versity seems to have already taught me to see 
clearer — ^perhaps I may be happier for it — I cer- 
tainly should if I could think that I had hitherto 
endangered no happiness but my own — but I 
know too well what I have sacrificed.’^ His 
voice faltered, and he seemed to make an unavail- 
ing effort to proceed. He took his daughter’s 
hand, pressed it to his breast, and added, in a low 
tone, — I have sacrificed you.” 

Agnes was startled and agitated by this sudden 
allusion to her own situation, and, for a while, was 
unable to answer. Do not think so,” said she 
at length, ‘‘ I shall always look upon Mr. Sack- 
ville as a very valuable protector; and even if I 
cannot feel any very strong affection for him, I 
ought not to repine at being in such hands as his 
— besides — ” she suddenly checked herself, and 
presently added, Yes, yes, I believe it is all for 
the best.” Her mind was recurring to Lacy. 
Mr. Morton understood her thoughts, and fore- 
bore all further remark. 

In spite of his self-congratulation at escaping 
from the trammels of a false assumption of wealth, 
Mr. Morton soon gave way to melancholy, on 
viewing the features of his new situation. It was 
plain that his former character and station in the 
world could be maintained no longer, and that he 
must henceforward be content to give up, not only 
the parade in which he had so long delighted, but 


HERBERT LACY. 


91 


the more praise-worthy enjoyment of the pleasures 
of an extensive society. Unfortunately, too, he 
had been but little accustomed to seek for social 
happiness in his own domestic circle. He could 
hardly be blamed for this, for the search promised 
little success. Lady Louisa was a dull companion; 
Lady Malvern had scarcely interested him more; 
and of Agnes, till within the last three years, he 
had never seen much. She was now his chief, and 
he might almost say, his only consolation; for his 
youngest daughter was still but a child, and his 
sons were absent. 

On Agnes now devolved the difficult though 
grateful task of administering that consolation, of 
which her parents seemed so much in need. She had 
been a bright ornament in their days of prosperity; 
but it was now that her value was most deeply felt. 
The gloom of their situation would have seemed in- 
tolerable, but for the cheering influence of that men- 
tal sunshine, which, harassed as she was by other 
sorrows, superadded to theirs, she could always 
diffuse around her. She was not only a zealous, 
but a judicious comforter — she did not press una- 
vailing topics of consolation — she did not provoke 
to an indulgence in repining by seeming to under- 
rate the extent of the misfortune — she acknowledged 
its magnitude, and at the same time showed that 
she could contemplate it without dejection — she 
never appeared solicitous to console, an appearance 
which must ever defeat the object; but contrived 
that consolation should seem to come unbidden, 
rather than to have been summoned by her inge- 
nuity. 

The first friend and adviser whom Mr. Morton 
called to his aid, was Sackville, to whom he wrote 
after his resignation of the contest, and begged for 
his immediate presence. Sackville was then at his 


92 


HERBERT LACY, 


country seat, at the distance of about fifty miles 
from Dodswell, and on the second day after the re- 
ceipt of the letter, having forwarded an excuse for 
his delay, he joined the disconsolate party. In the 
meantime, we may pause to review the machina’- 
tions of this dangerous and deceitful person. 


HERBERT LACY. 


93 


CHAPTER XL 


We must not make a scarecrow of the law, 

Setting it up to scare the birds of prey, 

And let it keep one shape, till custom make it 
Their perch, and not their terror. 

Mecisure for Measure. 

Mr. Morton^s letter to Sackville caused nei- 
ther surprise nor sorrow to the latter. The event 
of the execution was not unexpected nor unwel- 
come. On the contrary, it had been promoted by 
himself, under the agency of Allen, acting on the 
fears and impatience of Mr. Morton’s other credi- 
tors; and the time at which it had been carried into 
effect had been expressly marked by his direction. 
He had secured to himself the hand of Agnes, by ter- 
rifying her weak father with the prospect of a disco- 
very of his embarrassment; and, having gained this 
object, he no longer feared to realize the threatened 
evil. His motives for procuring the execution to 
be levied against Mr. Morton were chiefly econo- 
mical; and their object was to check that course of 
expense, which was every day adding to the fright- 
ful magnitude of his embarrassments. 

The fortune of Agnes he regarded as eventually 
his own; and, though he intended after their union 
to resist her wish of liberally administering to the 
necessities of her parents, he considered it desira- 
ble that those necessities should be previously con- 
tracted as much as possible, and that the accumu- 


54 


HERBERT LACY. 


lation of debt should be checked. He also thought 
it better that the situation of Mr. Morton should 
be known to the world before his marriage with 
Agnes. There would be something apparently 
disinterested in marrying the daughter of a ruined 
man, even though that daughter were an independ- 
ent heiress; and it would give to his mercenary 
match the amiable colouring of the purest affec- 
tion. Besides, if assistance must be afforded, it 
would be both cheaper and more meritorious to re- 
lieve the humble wants of acknowledged poverty, 
than to minister to the private cravings of habitual 
extravagance. 

It was therefore decided that the life of profu- 
sion which Mr. Morton had so long led, must have 
its immediate end, and that he should at length be 
taught retrenchment in the bitter school of undis- 
guised adversity. This was one of his objects; 
the other was of a much darker character. It was 
not sufficient that the blow should be struck, un- 
less it could be made instrumental to setting at va- 
riance the Mortons and Lacys, and blackening the 
character of the latter. His measures, with re- 
spect to Herbert Lacy, were no longer dictated by 
mere precaution. Jealousy and hate now urged 
him to pursue, unnecessarily, for their gratifica- 
tion, those plots which were first prescribed by 
the calculations of self-interest. He hated the man 
whom he had injured; hated him because he had 
injured him. He knew that Agnes had loved, and 
still, at least, respected and esteemed him ; and 
this he could not brook. Had she been his at 
that moment he would not have deemed his tri- 
umph sufficient, unless he could have caused her to 
look with abhorrence on the object of her first at- 
tachment. 

We will now conduct our readers to Mr. Sack- 
ville’s seat at Trentford. The time will be a few 


HERBERT LACt. 


95 


hours after the arrival of Mr. Morton’s letter. 
The place, a room somewhat too spacious and ele* 
gantforthe antiquated name of study, yet to which 
those of library or drawing-room would be equal- 
ly inapplicable. It presented to the eye various 
insignia, alike of business and of literary leisure j 
and the spectator, like Hercules, pressed to make 
his choice, stood perplexed among the various in- 
ducements to exertion and to indolence. A so- 
lemn, business-like inkstand, of large dimensions, 
was opposed to the last luxurious contrivance for 
easy reading, a chair, ostensibly for study , but more 
truly calculated for sleep; tape-tied papers were relie- 
ved by a review ; and a large blue report of the bullion 
committee, was surmounted [proh pudor !) by the 
last new novel. Newspapers, and a few of the minor 
fry of periodical works, filled up the intervals, to- 
gether with numerous pamphlets ‘‘ from the au- 
thor,” on the corn, catholic, and other questions. 

Sackville was alone in this apartment. A book 
was in his hand, but his mind seemed to be other- 
wise engaged. His look was that of disappoint- 
ment and impatience; and he muttered, from time 
to time, half audible expressions, as if taxing some 
person with delay. At length his anxiety was ap- 
peased by the entrance of a Servant, who said that 
Mr. Allen desired to see him, and presently that 
person was introduced. 

It matters not,” said sackville, when after the 
first greetings, Allen began to apologize for his 
delay ; it matters not; and now to business. First 
read this letter, ” and he put inta his hands that 
which he had received from Mr Morton. So 
far, good. Your friend, the suing creditor, may 
congratulate himself on hawng given the victory 
to his own party; and you, Allen, may congratu- 
late yourself on having done a substantial kindness 
to Mr. Morton.” 


96 


HERBERT LACY. 


Allen smiled, as if at the irony of the observa- 
tion. 

I speak seriously,’’ replied Sackville; I do 
consider it a kindness, and it was meant as such 
by me. It will open his eyes to his real situation. 
It would have been better for him if it had happen- 
ed long ago, but I hope it will not come too late 
to save him. ” 

I am sure, Sir, I hope so as much as you can do,” 
said Allen, with a demure, half suppressed smile, 
as if he fully penetrated the hypocrisy of Sackville’s 
expressions. Sackville gave him a short, inquiring 
look, and then proceeded. 

I said the execution was well timed. I do not 
know whether you understand me; if not, I must 
explain. You are aware that it has forced him to 
resign the contest, and has given the victory to the 
other party. Nothing could happen better for 
them; if they had devised the business themselves 
they could not have devised it more successfully.” 

Allen assented. 

‘‘Well,” pursued Sackville, “now, I ask, may 
not Mr. Morton reasonably suppose that they ac- 
tually did contrive it ? Your friend, the suing 
creditor, is a voter on the Lacy side; he may have 
acted, not only for his own individual benefit, but 
for the advantage of his party; and Mr. Lacy might 
have known what was to happen, and have even 
advised and encouraged the measure.” 

“ He might, certainly,” replied Allen, dogged- 
ly; “ but I know, for my own part, that he had no- 
thing to do with it.” 

“I know that too; but others need not know 
the same. In short, to come to the point at once, 

I wish that Mr. Mor|jpn should think that he was 
the instigator of all that has happened . I have paved 
the way to this belief in a manner which I will af- 
terwards explain. The means of instilling it fur- 


HERBERT LACY. 


97 


ther I shall then leave to you. I know, my friend, 
that you have a plausible tongue, and a good reso- 
lute face, and a very fertile inventioa. I shall not 
ask you to do any thing disgraceful, — ^to tell coarse, 
plump, flaring lies, — simply to insinuate. I want 
a proof of your address; but, ‘ a word to the wise ^ 
— you understand me — let it be as I desire, and 
you shall find me not ungrateful.” 

Allen looked grave and thoughtful. 

‘‘ I understand you. Sir,” said he; and I be- 
lieve you know that I would do a great deal to 
serve you ; but I must honestly tell you that I do 
not like this business. I should be very sorry to 
engage in it, and I must beg you will excuse me.” 

Impossible,” said Sackville, drily. 

“ I have no heart of it,” continued Allen. I 
think it is much such another business as the last, 
and you know how that turned out.” 

‘‘ That was an unfortunate affair, I acknowledge. 
The duel was quite unexpected, and might have 
had very serious consequences ; though, as it happened 
no evil resulted from it, and the parties became better 
friends than before. But here I promise you that 
there shall be no fighting; not even a lawsuit, Al- 
len, which is more in your style of hostility. The 
parties shall not exchange one angry word, and 
every thing shall be conducted with a due regard 
to your most peaceable intentions.” 

« That may be. Sir — that may be; but I don’t 
see the object, and I don’t like the principle. 
Here is a young gentleman to be taxed unjustly, 
and made to appear in a shameful light; and here 
is Mr. Morton made to bear all sorts of ill will to- 
wards a person that does not deserve it. I cannot 
think that this is right. Sir, and I don’t like to have 
a hand in it.” 

Indeed !” said Sackville, with a scornful smile, 
“You are grown mightily conscientious! Allen, I 

VoL. II. 9 


9S 


HERBERT LACY. 


must tell you plainly that I think you might have 
had somewhat more confidence in me. You need 
not have supposed so readily that my motives must 
be wrong, merely because you could not under- 
stand them. You say you can not see the object 
— nor do I intend you to see it. You force me to 
speak plainly — you are my instrument, Sir, and 
not my fellow counsellor. You do not see the 
great and useful end I have in view, and you are 
starting at what you consider the equivocal nature 
of the means. Perhaps you don’t know that in 
questions of morality, the means are totally dis- 
regarded; the end is the only thing considered. 
Nobody can be said to have acted either ill or well 
till the whole of his conduct can be viewed toge- 
ther. If you want an apology for evil means, 
only look at the scheme of Providence. Nature 
works by them as well as by that which is good — 
and surely always for a happy end. Why are 
lightnings and earthquakes permitted ? Why do vi- 
pers encumber the earth ? Why are murderers and 
robbers, aye, and forgers left unpunished ? I tell 
you they have all their use. Let me have no 
more scruples. It may be some poor satisfaction 
to you to express them; but they can have no effect 
upon me, because I know that they are needless. 
I say these things, not to exculpate myself, but to 
satisfy you. It was unnecessary for me to have 
explained my sentiments so fully; but I wished to 
act a friendly part, and I expect that you will show 
your sense of it.” 

‘‘ Mr. Sackville,” replied Allen in a submissive 
tone, ‘‘I beg your pardon, if I seemed to accuse 
you of meaning to do what was wrong. I am 
sure I have as much confidence in you as I should 
have in any gentleman that was to make the same 
proposal to me. I am a plain, simple man. Sir, 
and what little learning I have, has been picked up 


HERBERT LACY. 


99 


here and there, as I best could. I am sure I won’t 
pretend to argue with you about the morality of the 
case: I leave all that to you, Sir. I dare say it is 
quite correct, since you say it is. But I hope you 
will consider, that whether it may be right or not 
in the end, it will be a very dangerous business 
for me.” 

Dangerous!” exclaimed Sackville, with a 
laugh. “ Oh, then, it is fear, and not morality, 
that makes you so scrupulous on this occasion.” 

You may laugh. Sir, and call it fear,” said Al- 
len; but I cannot see that there is any shame in 
being mindful of consequences.” 

No: nor do I wish you to be unmindful of then^; 
but be pleased to recollect the consequences of dis- 
obeying me.” 

A silence ensued. Sackville turned away, 
leaving his hint to operate; and Allen, with a dark 
and troubled countenance, was reflecting on the 
most advisable answer to such a denunciation. 

I do not wish to disobey you, Sir,” said he, 

and I will give you a proof of it. Here, Sir, at 
this moment, I am ready to promise to do what 
you ask, upon condition that you will first grant 
me one little favour.” 

‘‘ I cannot listen to conditions; I asked for com- 
pliance, without reserve.” 

‘‘ Nay, but the favour is so trifling.” 

Well, then, name it.” 

Then, Sir, I ask you to let me first see — thaC 
paper, 

Sackville regarded him with surprise and sus- 
picion. 

You have made a strange request,” said he; 

what profit or pleasure can you find in looking 
at your own forgery ?” 

Allen returned no answer. 

This is mere trifling, Allen. If you have a 


100 


HERBERT LACr. 


sufficient reason, tell it; but don’t suppose that 
I can go out of my way to gratify an idle whim.” 

‘‘ I am sorry to hear it, Sir, because, in this case, 
neither can I go out of my way to do as you desired 
me. ” 

Good God! but consider the consequences.” 

Yes, Sir, I do consider the consequences, and 
I shall leave them to follow as they may. I am 
very sorry to seem to thwart you, but I really can- 
not comply unless you grant me this favour.” 

I understand it,” thought Sackville. The 
rascal has taken it into his head that I have not the 
power I assume; that the paper is defective, or not 
in my possession. Perhaps it is better to unde- 
ceive him. A refusal would only confirm his sus- 
picions — Allen,” said he, sternly, I cannot com- 
mend the reasonableness of your request; but 
i\evertheless, it shall be granted:” and so saying, 
he quitted the room, leaving Allen alone to all the 
gloomy retrospect of guilt, and the fearful hopes 
which he had then before him. His motives were 
partly such as Sackville had conjectured; but in 
addition to these, he had also proposed to himself 
the bold measure of forcibly seizing and destroying 
the forged paper. In a set struggle with Sackville, 
who was a strong and well-made man, he could 
ha^^e little chance of succeeding; and he could 
therefore depend only upon craft, and the unex- 
pectedness and rapidity of his movements. While 
he was arranging his plan of attack, and nerving 
his courage for the encounter, Sackville re-entered 
the room. 

The first thing he did was to lock the door. — 
Allen’s anxious eyes were instantly turned towards 
him in expectation of the paper; but he saw no 
such object in Sackville’s hand; he saw only the 
startling spectacle of a pistol, a powder-horn, and 
a bullet. Sackville neither spoke nor looked at 
him, but walked to the other end of the room, and 


HERBERT LACY. 


101 


deliberately began to load his pistol. Allen’s hearl: 
sunk within him. 

‘‘Mr. Sackville! the paper?” said he, inqui- 
ringly. 

Sackville neither looked up, nor answered him 
a word. 

“Mr. Sackville — I trust — I don’t understand — 
I hope you will oblige me.” 

Still no answer. 

“ Mr. Sackville, for God’s sake — pray explain!” 
said Allen, advancing. 

“Stand back,” interrupted Sackville, sternly. 

“ I am not alarmed. Sir,” continued Allen ; 
“ I am still prepared to ask the same; it will do 
you little credit, Sir, to attack a defenceless man. 
Pray consider ” 

“Peace! peace!” cried Sackville, with a look 
of scorn. “ Do you think, if I wished to shorten 
your miserable life, it would not be the easier way 
to let the gallows do its office! I shall not take 
the trouble to hurt you;” and then having loaded 
his pistol, he rose and went to a large bureau which 
occupied a recess in the room. This he opened, 
and drew forth the ominous paper which contain- 
ed Allen’s forgery. He then turned towards that 
person, and approached him, holding in one hand 
the paper, and in the other, the loaded pistol. 

“ Allen,” said he, with a milder air, “ you 
must excuse my precautions. Documents like this, 
which hold the power of life and death, are not to 
be shown lightly, especially to those who are inte- 
rested in destroying them. I will not suppose that 
you thought so meanly of my discretion, as to ima- 
gine that I should put this into your hand as I 
would a newspaper. No — first look here;” and 
so saying, he presented the pistol, levelled it at Al- 
len’s breast, and cocked it. Allen started, and 
shrunk backward, in alarm. “ Compose your- 


102 


HERBERT LACY. 


self,’^ continued Sackville, coolly, and listen to 
what I am going to say. You are aware that with 
one slight motion of this forefinger, I could put 
an end to your existence j yes — I see you are 
aware of it — good — and now I am going to grati- 
fy you. Here is the paper you wished to see. 
You shall not only see it, Sir, but you shall hold it 
in your own hands. You may read, scrutinize, 
spell every syllable, count the letters if you choosey 
but if you make the slightest attempt to destroy 
it — move but one finger with such an intention, 
and that minute will be your last. There, receive 
your forgery. 

So saying, he placed in Alienas hand the paper 
on which hung his life. A death-like silence en- 
sued. Allen stood motionless, holding before his 
eyes the fatal document, with the muzzle of Sack- 
ville’s pistol about a yard from his breast. The 
situation of Allen was inconceivably tremendous, 
and thoughts of the most terrible nature were con- 
flicting in his mind, while his eyes were wander- 
ing over the writing, of which he distinguished 
not a line. Even at that moment, and in spite of 
Sackville’s awful threat, he was meditating the de- 
struction of the paper; and once he looked up to 
try if he could discern any symptoms of mercy 
or irresolution in the aspect of his opponent; but 
he was met by a glance of deadly determination 
from Sackville’s eye, which indicated at once that 
he had not threatened one tittle tliat he would not 
execute. 

Allen’s countenance fell; his resolution seemed 
to be blasted by that glance, and he felt his flesh 
creep with terror. All the awfulness of his situa- 
tion burst at once upon him. He held in his hand 
one instrument for his own destruction, and ano- 
ther was before him. The deadly paper, and the 
deadly pistol— death by the law, and by the hand 


HERBERT LACY. 


103 


of Sackville — were present to his mind at once, 
and he seemed like a wretched captive, so envi- 
roned by forms of death, that he could in no way 
fly from its influence. This impression, and the 
terrible risk he was meditating, were too powerful 
for his resolution. Cold drops started from the 
forehead of the miserable delinquent; his lips qui- 
vered; his eyes looked glazed and wandering; his 
whole frame seemed to totter; and, with a trem- 
bling hand, he restored the paper to Sackville. 
The latter received it in silence, and surveying, 
with a look of contemptuous compassion, the pale 
and trembling figure of the unfortunate Allen, he 
poured out a glass of water and offered it to him to 
drink. 

‘‘Take this,’’ said he; “you have need of it: 
you have exposed yourself to an unnecessary trial; 
but you little thought it would be so severe. You 
will be wiser for the future. And now,” pursued 
Sackville, after a short pause, “I conclude that 
you will not refuse to do what I require.” 

“I submit,” replied the other. 

“ Then you have nothing to fear; and if you se- 
cond my views effectually, you shall have much to 
expect.” 

Here qnded the conversation, and the worthy 
confederates separated. 


104 


HERBERT LACr. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Let us prove that our minds are no slaves to fortune; and in 
adversity triumph over adversity. 

Sm Philip Sidney. 

The sudden discovery and great extent of Mr, 
Morton’s embarrassment, caused considerable sur- 
prise among his neighbours. In this land of com- 
merce, public opinion is rather disposed to magni- 
fy the profits of successful speculation; and, ac- 
cordingly, the father of Mr. Morton was generally 
believed to have left him a much greater fortune 
than was really the case. Mr. Morton was con- 
scious, from the first moment of possessing it, that 
he was considered a richer man than he was, and 
this delusion of the public he had ever since been 
most fatally eager to strengthen. Regarding it, 
justly, as one of his most potent claims to respect, 
he had spared no pains to preserve, unimpeached, 
his character for opulence; and it is, therefore, not 
surprising that the world, which had hailed his 
opening career with a delusion, should have been 
still further blinded by his efforts to confirm it. — 
That he had debts was knowm to many; but this 
was supposed to proceed less from want, than from 
that carelessness which he always affected with re- 
spect to money, and few doubted his ability to pay 
them. 

But, great as might be the surprise which his 
neighbours really felt at his unexpected ruin, they 


HERBERT LACY. 


105 


soon ceased to express any. Most of them were 
soon prepared with their budget of previous suspi- 
cions, and sure indications, and startling circum- 
stances, which they would have mentioned long 
ago, if charity had not forbidden. Society abounds 
with these prophets of the past,’’ who try to in- 
demnify themselves for real short-sightedness, by 
pretending that the discovery of their foresight 
was controlled only by their discretion or benevo- 
lence. 

Lord Rodborough, contrary to his usual custom, 
laid no claim to such foreknowledge. He thought 
it was better to be perfectly innocent of all pre- 
vious acquaintance with the state of Mr. Morton’s 
affairs; and that it would accord most becomingly 
with his dignified carelessness, not to have stooped 
to the consideration of so trivial a subject. He 
also chose to consider himself ill-used, by having- 
been kept in the dark about it, which could not 
have hftRn thR r»afsp if hp harl p.ntprtainprl any pre- 
vious suspicions. This appears to have been his 
first feeling, upon receiving the intelligence which 
Mr. Morton had despatched to him, after reti- 
ring from the company of his supporters at Wich- 
combe. 

If the fellow was distressed,” said his lord- 
ship, adjusting his cravat as he spoke, — Why 
the devil did not he tell me so ? I like openness 
especially in these money matters ; it saves a d — d 
deal of inconvenience;” and under this dignified 
view of the subject, he despatched the answer 
which gave such violent, and, we may add, such 
just offence to Mr. Morton. 

That unfortunate person was utterly depressed 
by this calamity. He felt degraded in the eye of 
the world, shrunk with horror from the idea of 
society, and could scarcely bear to meet the face 
of a familiar friend. He viewed himself, de** 


lOG 


HERBERT LACY. 


spondingly, and with some truth, in the light of a 
detected impostor. He knew that he had long 
deceived the world with a false show of affluence, 
and he feared that it would be found not back' 
ward in taking vengeance for the fraud. It is true 
that he was released from the burthen of support- 
ing false appearances, and he tried, in his misery, 
to account it a relief. But those appearances, irk- 
some as they might prove, had been among the 
main objects of his life. A bitter sense of the de- 
gradation which must ensue to himself and his fami- 
ly formed the most poignant part of his afflictions. 
As for the deprivation of former luxuries, he 
viewed it, at first, with comparative disregard; 
such sacrifices seem ever trifling in the aggregate, 
and it is only when viewed and attempted sepa-. 
rately, that their greatness becomes known. Be- 
sides, to one who was writhing, like Mr. Mor- 
ton, under the infliction of imaginary contempt, 
it was even a onnsnlatinn to nKle^ by personal 
privations, to lay some claim to the dignity of suf- 
fering. 

He had indeed, much to bear, and it was useless 
to disguise how much. His establishment must 
be broken up, his goods sold, and he must fly 
from Dodswell. He felt little difficulty in break- 
ing these circumstances to Agnes, for he saw in 
her a strength of mind which would enable her to 
receive them calmly. She even anticipated the 
terrible necessity, and anticipated it almost wdth 
cheerfulness. But it was difficult to disclose the 
real extent of their misfortune to Lady Louisa, 
in such a way as to mitigate its severity. When 
she heard that all they had must be sold, even her 
very jewels, she persisted for some time, in dis- 
crediting the possibility of such an outrage. 

But the methodical diligence of the sheriff’s 
officers soon convinced her of the unhappy truth. 


HERBERT LACY. 


107 


They had immediately proceeded to take an in- 
ventory of all the moveable property that the 
house contained; and Lady Louisa found herself 
obliged to resign her jewels, and see them inclu- 
ded in the list. Many and earnest were her en- 
treaties for the exemption of her paraphernalia; 
and she vainly thought to shock and intimidate the 
myrmidons of the law, by informing them that 
they were laying their unhallowed hands on jewels 
that had been worn by a Duchess of Swansea. 
But she found that the dignity of the former pos- 
sessor, was totally inapplicable to the present case 
and was thrown into the last agony of despair, by 
being told civilly, but with an air of decision that 
admitted of no resistance, that any such exemption 
was impossible. 

The under-sheriff appeared at Dodswell, and 
seemed desirous of softening, as far as was possible, 
the rigours of the law. Such simple moveables as 
were absolutely necessary, were allowed to be re- 
tained, and their fears were quieted, of being ob- 
liged to seek a new abode in a state of utter desti- 
tution. They had no complaints to make of harsh- 
ness and brutality, on the part of those whose duty 
it was to execute the legal mandate. They re- 
ceived, from these authorized intruders, all the de- 
ference and civility which circumstances admitted, 
and it was evident that a wish was entertained to 
spare their feelings as much as possible. 

But there are states of the mind in which this 
exemption from the very worst that can befall, is 
hardly received as a relief. Suffering seems robbed 
of that dignity, the sense of which supports us 
under it, when we find that far from our having 
endured, its •extremitfes, it has, notwithstanding 
its severity, sfifl been alleviated. This unavailing 
mercy, which strives to lighten the evil without 
being able to remove it, seems but a contemptuous 


108 


HERBERT LACT. 


tribute to our weakness. It unnerves our fortitude; 
and while it takes a little from the heap of our mis- 
fortunes, makes us more keenly sensible of all that 
remains. 

These may not be the feelings most proper for 
the unfortunate, but they are very natural ones, 
especially in minds which have ever listened to the 
dictates of pride. They occurred in galling bitter- 
ness to Mr. Morton, and he never more strongly 
felt his degradation than when he found himself an 
object of compassion to a sherifPs officer. 

On the second day after the despatch of the let- 
ter to Sackville, that gentleman arrived at Dods- 
well. His presence was received by all as a wel- 
come succour. Even Agnes was glad of his arri- 
val; for though she had misgivings of the real good- 
ness of his disposition, she could fully appreciate 
his companionable qualities, and had great reliance 
in his clear worldly sense and address in matters 
of business, and doubted not that he would recom- 
mend such courses as were most advisable in their 
present situation. She had also another still more 
urgent reason for wishing to see him. He was one 
of the trustees in whose hands her own large for- 
tune was placed, and she wished for his advice and 
permission in rendering that fortune available for 
the relief of her parents. 

Hers was a cruel situation. Mistress of wealth, 
she was not only threatened with the evils of po- 
verty, but compelled to see her parents exposed to 
it without being able to offer more than vague hopes 
of future assistance. Her mother evidently relied 
upon her for help, and somewhat too regardless of 
the sacrifice she was exacting, had almost express- 
ed her opinion that the fortune of Agnes would 
save them from the necessity of quitting Dodswell. 
To these broad hints and distressing appeals, Agnes 
scarcely knew how to reply; and she feared lest 


HERBERT LACY. 


109 


her mother, who was inaccessible to all explanation 
upon subjects of business, would attribute her 
reserve to the want rather of will than of power. 

Agnes took an early opportunity of consulting 
with Sackville upon these important points, and 
earnestly entreated him to give his consent to the 
application of a large part of her fortune to the li- 
quidation of her father^s debts. Sackville seemed 
moved and interested by her appeal, assured her 
of his most entire sympathy, and promised to 
co-operate with her to the utmost of his power. 
He then began to point out the difficulties that lay 
in the way of his compliance. He reminded her 
that his single voice was insufficient for the adop- 
tion of any measure without the .consent of Mr. 
Hawskworth, • the other trustee; and he assured 
her, that to the best of his belief that consent 
would not be obtained but with the utmost diffi- 
culty. He described to her the inflexible pertina- 
city of his colleague, the jealous vigilance with 
which he watched over the accumulation of her 
, fortune, and the probable earnestness with which 
he would resist any attempt to diminish it. 

‘‘ But improbable as it maybe,” said Sackville, 

we will suppose that his consent is gained: what 
will be the result ? Very difierent from what you 
anticipate. You feel an amiable and generous 
wish to relieve your parents, and to restore them 
to their former situation, and you think that this 
may be done; but it is my duty to undeceive you, 
and to tell you that it is not possible. You may 
discharge some of the debts, it is true, out of your 
income: but you cannot enable your father to live 
here, as he has done. It is absolutely necessary 
that there should be a great and immediate re- 
trenchment, and I need hardly tell you that this 
would be carried into effect much more complete- 
ly by quitting Dodswell, than by remaining here. 

VoL. II. 10 


110 


HERBERT LACY. 


I think too, you will acknowledge, that such a 
course would be less painful to your father’s feel- 
ings. To live here still with straightened means 
while every thing around reminded him of former 
splendours,' and of luxuries, and even comforts, 
which he must now deny himself, would be infi- 
nitely more galling than a much greater change of 
life elsewhere. It would be a subject of perpetu- 
tual vexation; and I am confident, that it is wiser 
to suffer the shock of parting, than to endure, day 
by day, the lingering mortification which he would 
otherwise be exposed to.” 

Agnes concurred with him in the propriety of 
quitting Dodswell, but still urged her entreaty to 
be allowed to contribute to the liquidation of the 
debts. She alluded to their own engagement, and 
to the prospect of her fortune becoming eventually 
his; and appealed pointedly to his generosity, and 
remarked somewhat warmly on the imputations 
to which he might he e^rpospid of thwarting her 
liberal views, because they might interfere with 
his future interests. She was animated by the 
strong desire of assisting her parents, and spoke 
with an energy and decision, for which Sackville 
was unprepared, and which at first startled and 
perplexed him. Neverthelesss, he heard her with 
calmness and patience, and answered without hesi- 
tation. 

You have allowed yourself,” said he, <‘to ex- 
press a little doubt of the disinterestedness of my 
motives, but I know that it is an impression 
which you will not long maintain. It cannot af-^ 
feet me, and I will let it pass. You wish me to 
urge Mr. Hawskworth to join with me in satis- 
fying the demands of your father’s creditors out of 
your fortune. Do you know whom I should have 
to pay ? Myself. Yes, I see you are surprised: 
but it is very true. I am one of your father’s 


HERBERT LACY. 


Ill 


principal creditors. I am not one of those who now 
sue him, nor will I partake of the spoil. I once 
hoped to have prevented what has now happened; 
I became his creditor to save him from the rapaci- 
ty of others — bought up several of his debts, and 
in so doing, became indebted myself. But for me 
what has now burst upon your father would have 
happened long ago. 1 will not say, that in the 
end it might not have been better for him, if his 
distresses had been made apparent sooner, but 
still I have a satisfaction in thinking that I post- 
poned the evil day, and ensured to you all a few 
more years of happiness. This is what I have 
done, and yet I live to hear my disinterestedness 
questioned, and by you, because I will not urge a 
measure, by which I myself should be an immedi- 
ate gainer. Oh, Agnes, this is indeed a cruel re- 
turn; but you were not conscious of the whole 
truth, and if you had been so, I could excuse 
much at such a time.” 

Agnes expressed her sorrow for the injustice 
she had done him. Sackville declaimed himself sa- 
tisfied, and proceeded. 

There is another view of the subject, in which 
I have not yet presented it to you. Suppose your 
whole fortune at your absolute disposal, and let 
us consider what, under present circumstances, 
would be the most judicious mode of proceeding. 
You should think not only of the present distresses 
of your parents, but of the future prospects of your 
brothers and sister. It is true, they have each a 
small independent fortune, but if this is all they 
are to look to, they will be ill provided for in after 
life. You should therefore so act as to benefit all, 
and this I assure you can never be done by open- 
ing the flood-gates of a lavish generosity. Econo- 
my and retrenchment are absolutely essential for 
the welfare of all, and you w’ould be doing onlj^an 


112 


HERBERT LACY. 


unkindness, by rendering it less strongly felt 
Your father — I may safely say it, for you know 
my respect for his many good qualities — your fa- 
ther is very deficient in prudence. His present 
situation shows it; and I fear there would be little 
prospect of amendment, as long as he had the means 
of supporting his former extravagance. Your means 
are ample, but you must not think them inexhausti- 
ble. They would soon fail, and then what would 
be the fate of all ! Be reconciled to what has oc- 
curred. This blow may prove a salutary warning. 
Good often springs out of evil.’’ 

A slight gleam of satisfaction passed across the 
countenance of Agnes: she could not reply to the 
arguments of Sackville, but her desire of relieving 
her parents out of her own superfluity still could 
not be repressed. He watched her looks, and tra- 
ced the workings of her mind. 

‘‘ I see,” he added, ‘‘that you are not yet satis- 
fied. Well, then, I must have recourse to an ar- 
gument, which I little thought to have required: 
you may wonder why I did not make use of it 
at first, but I wished to convince your reason, and 
I did not like to hurt you unnecessarily, by allud- 
ing to the excellent friend that we have lost — 1 
mean your aunt. You may think her decision some- 
what harsh, and that, were she now living, she 
might be induced to act differently; but this is be- 
yond our knowledge. I can only tell you how she 
did decide, and I know you will feel that with res- 
pect to tlie fortune which she left you, her will 
should be law. ” 

Agnes expressed an earnest assent: Sackville 
j)aused for a moment, and then went on. 

Our excellent relation was strongly impressed 
with the idea of your father’s extravagance. She 
seems to have foreseen that he would become em- 
barrassed; and it was her wish that this misfortune. 


HERBERT LACY. 


113 


might be caused to fall as lightly as possible on his 
children. A short time before her death, she spoke 
to me upon this subject. Her will was then made. 
I was acquainted with its contents. She spoke, 
and with deep satisfaction, of the fortune which 
she had been enabled to leave to you. She then 
expressed fears of her brother’s improvidence, and 
begged that I would not permit any money to be 
raised upon the security of your fortune, to be ap- 
plied to the payment of his debts. I of course 
promised compliance, for I had no right to oppose 
her will: but — I don’t know how it happened — I 
think of it now as a fortunate accident; I seem to 
have anticipated the entreaty that I am now ex- 
posed to — I told her, that such a refusal on my 
})art, might hereafter seem harsh and invidious, and 
I begged that I might be provided with authority 
for my refusal by the expression of her wish in 
writing. She gave it me. I have it still; and 
since it must be so, 1 will now show it.” 

He left the room, and soon returned with the 
paper, which he put into the hand of Agnes. She 
recognised her aunt’s hand-writing, and silently 
regarded it with emotion and respect. She turn- 
ed away her face to conceal her tears — then re- 
stored the paper to Sackville, and said in a low 
and broken voice, I am satisfied,” and the pain- 
ful subject was then dismissed. 


114 


HERBERT LACY* 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Every wish which leads us to expect happiness somewhere else 
than where we are, only lays a foundation for uneasiness. 

Goldsmith. 

It was decided that the family should quit Dods~ 
well as soon as possible, and the only question 
that remained was, where they should go. Re- 
tirement was considered a primary object, and va- 
rious secluded parts of England and the Continent 
were proposed and rejected in turn. Sackville, 
who wished to retain them as much as possible 
within his grasp, and under his eye, until his mar- 
riage with Agnes, offered them his own house at 
Trentford: but, Mr. Morton, whose pride shrunk 
from the acceptance of such an extent of obliga- 
tion, refused this offer, as well as a similar one, 
that had been made by Lord and Lady Malvern. 
Sackville then recommended London or its vicini- 
ty, and brought forward many plausible arguments 
in its favour. The health of Lady Louisa, he was 
very sure, required that she should be in the 
neighbourhood of good medical advice, an opinion 
in which she strongly concurred: London, he said, 
and with some truth, was the best place for soli- 
tude, and retirement — no where could seclusion be 
practised more effectual ly-^let them only live out 
of the way, and show themselves never, or but 
seldom, in the world, and they might enjoy as 
complete a seclusion as if two hundred miles divi- 


HERBERT LACY. 


115 


(led them from the capital. Then he described so 
well the meddling, prying curiosity of remote 
neighbourhoods, and the di&ulty of escaping from 
vulgar intrusion where every one, however insig- 
nificant, became an object of attention, that Mr. 
Morton was soon brought to think that no where 
could he be so eflfectually concealed from notice as 
in the metropolis itself. 

Thither it was finally determined that the whole 
family should soon proceed, and Sackville offered 
to go before them, with the view of obtaining some 
quiet and humble residence. The yearly allow- 
ance of Agnes, and a small income constituting 
Lady Louisa’s pin-money, were the only funds 
upon which they could now depend: their large 
household were all, with the exception of three 
old servants, obliged to be dismissed j many of 
them quitted the house long before the departure 
of the family, and its gloomy air of desertion, 
which every day became more apparent, adde(i 
greatly to the misery of its unhappy inmates. 

From the moment that the sheriff’s officers had 
entered the house, the hand of care and attention 
seemed to have been suspended ; and the whole 
menage began to assume a cliaracter of confusion 
and discomfort. The outward signs of those little 
indefinable elegancies which characterize a well-or- 
dered English country residence, had rapidly be- 
gun to vanish; and before the Mortons had quitted 
it, Dodswell almost wore the appearance of being 
deserted. Within the dwelling there was little to 
relieve its silent gloom, except the melancholy pre- 
parations for the departure of the family, and for 
the approaching sale of the effects; pictures were 
removed from their places to be marked and regis- 
tered, and rooms that had often been the scenes of 
social gaiety, were now converted into comfortless 
repositories of the collected spoil. 


116 


HERBERT LACY. 


Their are few who can withstand the influence 
of local attachments. Our country, our dwelling, 
and, above all, the place of our birth, are frequen- 
tly clung to with an ardour which, ‘though we can- 
not coolly justify its reasonableness, we find it no 
less difficult to subdue. We almost act as if we 
fancied that the inanimate objects from which we 
part so mournfully, were for a while endued with 
conciousness, and could participate in our regrets. 
They recal to our minds past scenes, and former 
friends; and we view them as relics that are hal- 
lowed to our feelings by the associations which 
they convey. Many an object intrinsically trifl- 
ing acquires a value beyond estimation, by circum- 
stances of this nature. Wide, indeed, is the range 
of cherished recollections that cling around an an- 
cient dwelling, and cruel is the blow that violates 
>such a sanctuary. 

At length the day arrived when the Mortons 
were to quit Dodswell. Distress had never seem- 
ed to press so heavy upon them as at that moment: 
to leave a home even under prosperous circumstan- 
ces, and with a prospect of return, is melancholy; 
and they had neither present happiness nor cheer- 
ing prospects. It was early on a gloomy morning 
in February, that the family set out upon their 
journey. The weather was stormy, and the sigh- 
ing of the wind, and beating of the rain against 
tlieir desolate mansion, added not a little to the de- 
pressing sights and sounds that encompassed them; 
and large patches of unmelted snow, served only 
to increase, by their contrast, the wintery black- 
ness of the remainder of the landscape. 

Two old servants accompanied the family, who, 
together with ohe that had been sent forward to 
prepare that humble dwelling that awaited them in 
J.<ondon, now formed the whole of their reduced 
•establishment; and with heavy hearts the party 


HERBERT LACY. 


117 


drove from their own doors. Lady Lousia, and 
Agnes, and her younger sister, could not refrain from 
tears of bitter regret. Mr. Morton’s strength had 
seemed almost to fail him as he entered the car- 
riage, and he remained long sunk in silent dejec- 
tion. They received a few marks of respectful 
condolence from their humble neighbours ; but 
these demonstrations were rare. The Mortons, un- 
happily, had not conciliated the good-will of their 
inferiors, so successfully as that of their superiors 
and equals. Mr. Morton’s manners were natural- 
ly haughty; and the people could ill-brook an air 
of aristocratic pride in one whose ancestors, with- 
in the memory of men still living, had mingled in 
the rank of the lowest classes. His extravagance, 
and frequent want of money, had also rendered 
him far other than a liberal landlord. Lady Loui- 
sa wished well to all, and did no harm to any; but 
she had never given herself the trouble of doing 
good. 

The spirits of the party gradually improved as 
they receded from their own neighbourhood, and 
from scenes which they had so often viewed under 
happier circumstances. Desirous of change, they 
looked forward with a sort of melancholy satisfac- 
tion, even to their arrival in London, and were 
glad to trace the first visible effects of its far ex- 
tended influence. 

Of all cities in the world, London, perhaps, ex- 
tends most widely its influence on the character of 
the surrounding country, and announces itself to 
the traveller at the greatest distance. Neither 
Paris, Naples, nor Vienna, the three cities of 
Christendom which approach it most nearly in size 
can offer any comparison in this respect. They 
seem to have contributed little to the territory 
around them, and to have received little in return: 
the limits between town and country are c^arly 


118 


HERBERT LACY. 


defined, and-the intercourse between them is compa- 
ratively slight: few indications of increasing activi- 
ty, population, and wealth, meet the observation of 
the approaching stranger; and if his eye does not 
rest upon the roofs and pinnacles of the city, he 
will be scarcely concious of its vicinity, till he is 
stopped by the soldier who demands his passport. 

But who that approaches London can fail to 
note the far extended indications of its mighty 
presence ? Even in this favoured land in which 
the general diffusion of civilization and wealth are 
the happiest and most distinguishing characteris- 
tics, even here the change is very evident as wc 
approach the capital. The roads are better, and 
more thronged; the fields more carefully tilled; 
villas rise around in quicker succession, and the 
towns have an increasing air of gaiety, activity, 
and wealth; greater continually becomes the num- 
ber, and more eager the haste of those who hurry 
to and fro, as if not the mere business of every- 
day life, but some great event of general interest 
was setting all society in motion; houses thicken 
on either side, at first separate, and far dispersed, 
then clustering into connected rows — now admit- 
ting glimpses of the fields behind them, then at 
length backed by other buildings, and enclosing you 
in every direction; till by degrees, country is 
found to be lost in town; you are at length beneatli 
the influence of that smoky veil which many 
hours ago was seen hanging over the distant hori- 
zon; and the increasing turmoil, and bewildering 
movement of a teeming population, soon impel you 
to the full conviction that you are penetrating the 
recesses of the modern Babylon. 

Few can enter this colossal city without feeling 
for awhile an oppressive sense of their own com- 
parative insignificance. The most distinguished 
personages seem shorn of some portion of their 


HERBERT LACY. 


119 


consequence, and every one perceives that even to 
their immediate friends they become the objects of 
a less powerful and engrossing interest as soon as 
they mingle in the maze of London. 

This feeling, which is often unpleasantly humi- 
liating, was now soothing and consolatory to the 
wounded spirits of Mr. Morton. He found in his 
desolate abandonment by a strange and careless 
crowd, the truth of that seclusion which Sackville 
had promised; and though it was more oppressive 
than the rural retirement of a remote district, he 
was comforted in judging it to be more effectual. 

The house which Sackville had selected for him 
was situated in a quarter which, in the flippancy of 
his more prosperous days, he would have called 
the Polar regions. It was one of the Alpha Cot- 
tages, separated widely from the soi-disant habit- 
able part of the west-end by that impassable bar- 
rier, the New-road. It was a small, melancholy, 
square building, imbedded in a damp, weedy gar- 
den. It retired many yards from the public way, 
an anomalous mixture of street and road, to which 
one knows not which name to assjgn, and com- 
manded no more cheering view than wooden pali- 
sades, deformed with bills and chalkings; a gloomy 
row of high poplars, and, behind these, the com- 
fortless shell of an unfinished range of buildings. 

The party entered their humble dwelling with 
strong feelings of mortification and disgust; and 
the sight of the comparative wretchedness to which 
they had so suddenly sunk, caused many tears to 
Lady Lousia. Agnes tried to make the best of the 
dreariness of their situation; for she felt that now 
the time was come when they must feel the stern 
reality of that poverty which they had hitherto 
only been anticipating. She endeavoured to im- 
press upon them how little is necessary to comfort 
when ostentatious feelings are once dismissed. — 


120 


HERBERT LACY. 


The airiness and quietness of the dwelling were 
placed in the most favourable points of view, and 
even the contracted size of the rooms was made to 
appear in the light of an advantage; and reasons for 
being well pleased with the humility of this place 
of refuge were sedulously and successfully sought.* 
With the calm energy of unpretending benevo- 
lence, she extracted, for the comfort of her dispi- 
rited parents, many an unexpected good out of the 
bitter cup of their afflictions. She presented to 
them a cheering view whenever circumstances ad- 
mitted it; and when the flattering prospect was de- 
nied, she could lighten the pressure of misfortune 
by the meek and Christian principle of uncomplain- 
ing resignation. 


HERBERT LACY. 


in 


CHAPTER XIV. 


I will stand no more 

On other’s legs, nor build one joy without me. 

If I be ever worth a house again 

I’ll build all inward: not a light shall ope 

The common outway: no expense, no art. 

No ornament, no door will I use there. 

But raise all plain and rudely, like a rampire, 

Against the false society of men. 

Chapman. 

Week after week rolled on in dull succession, 
and the Mortons remained in the same state of 
humble and melancholy seclusion. Their society 
was almost limited to Sackville and Lord and Lady 
Malvern. Few of their acquaintance were then 
in town, and of these, still fewer had discovered 
the place of their retreat, or took the trouble of 
coming to see them. Such as did call were seldom 
received, for Mr. Morton has become timidly sen- 
sitive since his distress had been made public, and 
shrunk from a meeting with all who were not old 
friends, or bound to him by the ties of relation- 
ship. He exhibited, in this instance, a singular 
waywardness and contrariety of feeling. Shunning 
society, and professing, with truth, to be averse to 
a meeting with any but his most intimate acquaint- 
ance, he was still keenly alive to neglect, and seem- 
ed constantly haunted with a dread of being for- 
gotten. 

He had always been sensitive on this point, but 
he was much more so now. He was severely gall- 

VoL. II. 11 


122 


HERBERT LACY. 


ed by a want of attention even in those persons 
whom he had no desire to see. The sight of a 
visiter’s card could restore him to comparative good 
spirits; and when day after day had passed, and no 
friend had come to his door, his spirits visibly sunk, 
and he would occasionally speak with much bitter- 
ness of the ingratitude of the world, and the heart- 
less indifference of society. 

Persons in such a situation are somewhat prone 
to magnify the injustice of the neglect they suffer. 
They forget the principles upon which they acted 
in their days of prosperity, and expect returns 
which they had previously never anticipated. — 
They paid in tinsel, and seek their late reward in 
pure and solid ore. They think not that they have 
been repaid already in the same light coin which 
they dispensed. Is there a friend for whom they 
have incurred a sacrifice, on whom they have con- 
ferred a lasting benefit ? From such let them re- 
quire the same. But the light interchange of so- 
ciety has given them no such enviable claim. — 
They sought a temporary pleasure, and they gained 
it; and yet how bitterly can they exclaim against 
those associates who withhold their notice in the 
hour of reverse. They talk of ruin magnanimous- 
ly incurred for the entertainment of those who now 
desert them. Ruin was in truth incurred; but it 
was for the gratification of a restless vanity: and, 
after all, the world, which they call ungrateful, is 
little more than sternly just. 

Among the relations who called upon the Mor- 
tons, and whose visits they received with pleasure, 
was the young Duke of Swansea. The late duke. 
Lady Louisa’s brother, had never been on terms 
of cordiality with his sister and her husband; but 
the present possessor of the title, much to his cre- 
dit, had not chosen to inherit the uncharitableness 
of his father. He was a frank, open-hearted young 


HERBERT LACY. 


123 


man, unaffected and unspoiled, and hitherto hap- 
pily insensible to the attempts that had been made 
to impress him with a high opinion of himself. 
His abilities, perhaps, barely exceeded the mode- 
rate limits of tolerably good sense, and he was, 
moreover, indolent and careless. Nevertheless, 
a good disposition, and certain liveliness of man- 
ner, had ensured him a great degree of popularity. 
He was a particular favourite of Lady Louisa, who 
was quite as proud of her nephew as she was of 
any of her children. 

One of her most favourite speculations was a 
marriage between him and one of her daughters: 
and though she could never have been accused of 
doing any thing to promote it, she certainly bore 
it constantly in mind. Lady Malvern, before her 
marriage, had first been selected as the future 
duchess; the prospective coronet was next trans- 
ferred to Agnes; and, now since her unfortunate 
engagement, it had been destined, by her sanguine 
mother, for the youthful brow of Marianne. This 
futile piece of castle-building was now sufficient to 
'occupy and interest the weak and vacant mind of 
poor Lady Louisa, and a visit from the duke was 
consequently regarded not merely as the visit of 
a relation, but as an event upon which hung the fa- 
vourite project of her life. 

One morning the duke called, stayed with them 
a long time, good humouredly tried to be pleased 
with the quietness of their situation, which he pre- 
tended to believe was chosen out of consideration 
for Lady Louia’s health, and promised to come 
and see them frequently. He talked chiefly to 
Agnes, and seemed much pleased with her, there- 
by causing no slight regret to Lady Louisa, who 
inwardly lamented the engagement, and her ne- 
phew’s unprofitable waste of admiration on the 
wrong person. Of Marianne, whom he viewed 


124 


HERBERT LACY. 


merely as a child, he took scarcely any notice; and 
Lady Louisa, almost felt angry with Agnes for en- 
grossing an attention, by which she could never 
hope to profit. 

The duke scarcely ventured to allude to the 
present distresses of the family; but almost the only 
part of their hardships which he gave any signs 
of perceiving, was the absence of amusement which 
it must entail upon Agnes; and his only act of prac- 
tical kindness was directed to her. He thought 
she would like to ride, and wanted very much to 
lend her a horse, which he was sure would suit 
her. 

‘‘ It will really,’^ said he, to Lady Louisa, 

‘‘ be a kindness in my cousin Agnes to take it; for 
it carries a lady remarkably well, and would only 
be spoiled by being ridden by a man. Agnes, 
however, had nobody to accompany her, and the 
offer was declined. 

The duke’s visit had been a welcome one to all, 
and they looked forward with pleasure to the pro- 
mised repetition of it; but week after week pas- 
sed on, and he never came. Mr. Morton, whose ' 
misfortunes had rendered him keenly susceptible 
to the slightest shadow of neglect, became very in- 
dignant at this want of attention. He wrought 
himself into a bad opinion, not only of his young 
relative, but of society in general, and, with the 
perversity of disappointment, was but too ready to 
judge, that even those who had hitherto shown no 
disposition to desert him, would prove equally ne- 
glectful in the end. Meanwhile, the duke’s omis- 
sions were such as he would perhaps have scarcely 
noticed under happier circumstances, nor must they, 
in fact, be regarded as proofs of an unfeeling dis- 
position. 

The duke as has been said, was perfectly, good 
natured, and willing to oblige; but he was also 


HERBERT LACY. 


125 


careless, indolent, and forgetful. With him, to 
be out of sight, was too frequently to be out of 
mind : he had a large acquaintance ; and, with 
scarcely any pursuit but that of amusement, he 
fancied that -his time was unavoidably very much 
occupied. Had he once been made to under- 
stand that his discontinuance of attention to the 
Mortons was adding to the sense of their afflictions, 
he would have been much grieved, and would have 
hastened to repair his fault. But he had yet to learn 
the positive ills, that may result from mere sins 
of omission, and that the person who confines 
his thoughts to the selfish object of pleasing him- 
self, may at the same time, very innocent- 
ly,^’ as he would say, cause considerable pain to 
others. 

The Duke of Swansea, had, however, an excuse, 
which, perhaps, in the opinions of some, may 
tend to exculpate him entirely. He had become 
a sudden and ardent admirer of one of the beau- 
ties of the day, and his adoration soon went to the 
full length of a proposal. He was accepted; and 
the maU’imonial Alnascharism of poor Lady Louisa 
was fated to receive its sudden down-fall, from 
the announcement of this event one morning by 
Lady Malvern. 

The Mortons received very frequent visits from 
Lady Malvern; but her presence did not often af- 
ford them much consolation. She was vain, 
weak, and frivolous, had no strength of mind, 
and seemed more oppressed by the sense of their 
calamities, than they even were themselves. — 
Spoiled by indulgence and prosperity, she rather 
aggravated their discontent, by overvaluing the 
importance of the advantages they had lost. She 
shuddered with an affectation of overstrained de- 
licacy, at the horrors of their habitation, and 
wondered how they could exist in such a small 
11 * 


126 


HERBERT LACY. 


ill-furnished house, so very, very far from 
every body.^^ Her only modes of consolation 
were by talking to them as if their situations had 
remained unchanged, — ^proposing plans which 
were now unfeasible, and detailing t£e tittle-tattle 
of that gay world from which they were endeav- 
ouring to wean themselves. She pressed Agnes 
to enter into society, brought her invitations, and 
wished her to allow herself to be chaperoned as 
usual. 

But Agnes resolutely declined mixing in the 
gaieties of general society. One of her motives 
was economy, a principle of self-denial, which, 
with her ample means, she little thought to have 
been so soon under the necessity of practising. — 
Her parents had now little to depend upon beyond 
her yearly allowance, which was all appropriated 
to their relief, and she had even parted with many 
valuable trinkets that she might contribute further 
to their comfort. Under these circumstances it 
was her object to reduce the expenses of the toi- 
lette, and abstain as much as she could from that 
costliness of attire which society would have re- 
quired. 

Lady Malvern could not, or would not, enter 
into the propriety of these considerations, and 
thought it strange and ridiculous that the heiress 
of thousands should stoop to the practice of such 
petty parsimony. She had frequent discussions 
with Agnes, on the subject of her unwillingness to 
go into society. Agnes thanked her for the kind- 
ness which induced her to press it, and assured her 
that she had no such wish. 

But that is so strange!” said Lady Malvern ^ 

it is not natural at your age, not to wish to go to 
balls. It is what the world would call odd, and if 
it is odd it cannot be right.” 

‘‘It might be odd,” said Agnes, with a mourn- 


HERBERT LACY. 


127 


ful smile, if there was nothing to warrant my 
declining ; but you must remember the peculiar 
circumstances in which we are placed.’’ 

‘‘Yes, my dear, I do remember them; but I 
wish you would not allude to them so often. It 
is not necessary, and it is very distressing. Be- 
sides, things won’t always remain as they are. — 
You know, you have said yourself, that you have 
hopes of making some arrangement.” 

“ My fortune is not in my own hands.” 

“True, but you are to be married; and then — ” 

“It will be my husband’s,” replied Agnes, 
gravely. 

The tone of her remark arrested for a while the 
train of Lady Malvern’s thoughts. After a short 
pause, Agnes proceeded — “ In the mean time, I 
wish to share, in every respect, the lot of our pa- 
rents. They will necessarily be exposed to many 
privations of former pleasures. Society is among 
the enjoyments they must give up; and I think 
they will be more resigned if they see me bearing 
the same lot as themselves, and (as I hope I shall 
do) cheerfully. They will feel their misfortunes 
lighter; and I shall have a better right to comfort 
them, than if I were exempt from what they are 
obliged to bear, and could not know by experience 
how melancholy their situation is.” 

“ That is very good in you, Agnes,” said Lady 
Malvern, “and very kindly and properly meant; 
but, my dear creature, don’t you think it will hurt 
my father and mother to suppose, (as they certain- 
ly must) that they are the means of debarring you 
from a great deal of amusement? Besides, if you 
went into society, you would be better able to en- 
tertain them. Think how delightful to return home 
from a party, and be able to tell them every thing 
you had seen and heard, and all the inquiries that 
had been made after them.” 


128 


HERBERT LACY. 


am afraid/^ said Agnes, sighing, there 
would be little in ball-room inquiries that could 
give them much pleasure. Even if I amused them 
at the time, I should do them no kindness in the 
end. I will take care that they shall never have 
the pain of supposing that I have been deprived of 
pleasure by them. They well know that if I give 
up society, I do it voluntarily.’’ 

Lady Malvern was not convinced by the reason- 
ableness of her sister’s arguments; but she was 
struck with the admirable spirit of her self-devo- 
tion, and forbore to urge intreaties which she found 
to be unavailing. 


w 


HERBERT LACY. 


12& 


CHAPTER XV. 


La souverainet^ parlementaire n’est au fait que la souverainete 
du peuple, sortie du domaine de [’abstraction pour entrer dans 
celui de la reality : ou plutot elle est I’image terrestre de cette 
souverainete de la raison a laquelle les hommes rendent homtnage 
lorsque, par une convention salutaire, ils donnent force de loi a 
Topinion de la majorite, pourvu que cette opinion se legitime en 
subissant I’^preuve d’une libre et publique discussion. 

Baron de Staed. Lettres mr VAngleterre. 

Mr. Morton’s resignation of the contest for 
Wichcombe was necessarily followed by the elec- 
tion of Lacy; and almost the whole time, since 
that event, had been passed by the latter in Lon- 
don, in attending to his parliamentary duties. — 
Lacy entered upon this new career under very fa- 
vourable expectations. University honours, which 
had been, hitherto, the highest within his attain- 
ment, had shown him to be possessed of talent; 
and though it might reasonably be questioned, 
whether the objects, when gained, were commen- 
surate with the exertion, they served, at any rate, 
as a tolerable criterion of his abilities. His ta- 
lents were also tempered by moderation and a be- 
coming diffidence in the unerringness of his own 
views. His parliamentary conduct was strictly in 
conformity with the liberality of his principles. 
He adhered to no particular party, and felt no ma- 
gic, in the words, Whig,” or Tory;” Mi- 
nistry,” or “Opposition.” Measures, not men, 
were his object. He saw, in the present organiza- 
tion of the state, the result of a long course of 


130 


HERBERT LACY. 


slow and unremitting changes, and he knew no 
reason why the hand of innovation, which had been 
hitherto beneficial, should now be arrested. He 
foreboded no danger to the higher classes, from 
the increasing education of the lower; and believed 
that insurrections were more successfully fostered 
by ignorance than by knowledge. He saw a 
wide difference between a repeal of catholic disa- 
bilities, and an approbation of their tenets; thought 
them to weak, as a sect, to excite our apprehen- 
sions, and too strong, as a people, to be prudently 
repulsed. He considered, that were there influ- 
ence such as their opponents believed, too much 
had been conceded already; and if not, why might 
not more be safely granted ? He trusted that the 
energies and resources of the country might be 
best developed by free trade; was not sportsman 
enough to be blind to the evils of the existing Game 
Laws; and, though heir to a large landed proper- 
ty, was creditably disposed to listen to reason on 
tne subject of corn. 

Though possessed of a respectable share of elo- 
quence, he did not wish to rush hastily into a dis- 
play of oratory. He knew that the multifarious 
and weighty business of the House of Commons, 
did not allow it to be used, like an assembly for 
amateur debaters, for mere purposes of show or 
practice. He could not conscientiously speak, 
unless he had something new or important to say: 
and his good taste preserved him, from the com- 
mission of florid common-place^. 

Herbert’s parliamentary career brought him into 
frequent contact with Sackville, who was also 
the representative of a borough; and he was ena- 
bled by this means, to form a truer estimate, of 
his character than he had hitherto done. He did 
not become privy to any instance of corruption in 
Sackville, or was able to convict him of political 


HERBERT LACY. 


131 


profligacy; but he soon became sensible, that if 
he was really exempt from such offences, he was 
preserved by no other principle than prudence. 
There was an absence of high-mindedness in Sack- 
ville, a contempt of public spirit, and a disregard 
of beneficial measures, except in so far as they could 
be made subservient to the interests of a party. 
He delighted in artifice, and was proud of his know- 
ledge of what he called parliamentary tactics. 
With him, to gull and overreach, were by no 
means a discreditable exercise of ability. He sym- 
pathized with the triumphs of successful chicanery, 
and never betrayed indignation or sorrow, on see- 
ing honourable simplicity borne down by the ef- 
forts of a dexterous knave. He made a frequent 
parade of fine sentiments; but it was perceptible 
to the acute observer, that they came rather from 
the head than from the heart; and his real bias, in- 
clined him to follow the tortuous paths of cunning. 

These characteristics did not escape the quick 
perception of Lacy. From gratitude to Sackville 
for an act of deliverance, he felt bound in duty 
to put a favourable construction upon his words 
and actions; but he could not refuse to receive the 
evidence of his observation; and the more he saw 
of Sackville, the more strongly was he inspired 
with distrust. The conversation which once pas- 
sed between himself and Agnes, . then came to his 
recollection, and as her expressions respecting Sack- 
ville coincided in a remarkable degree with what 
he had now experienced, they tended to confirm 
his unfavourable impressions. 

In connection with this train of thought, he re- 
membered the suspicions once dropped by his fa- 
ther, respecting the probable chicanery practised 
to e&ct the engagement of marriage with Agnes; 
and there were circumstances, connected with other 
recent events, which almost seemed to justify the 


132 


HERBERT LACT. 


belief of some treacherous underhand agency. The 
suspicions of Lacy were excited, and though he 
might sometimes mentally condemn them as un- 
charitable, they were not to be suppressed. 

The success of Sackville’s attempt to prejudice 
the mind of Mr. Morton against Lacy, by attribu- 
ting to the latter a knowledge and approbation of 
the legal process, had been complete. The idea of 
Lacy’s having plotted against Mr. Morton, was so 
artfully conveyed by Sackville to that gentleman, 
that he was not conscious that the first suggestion 
of it had not proceeded from himself. It was an im- 
pression which his former dislike of the Lacys, 
rendered him very prone to admit; and the idea 
being once entertained, Sackville dexterously drop- 
ped the character of the instigator, and irritated 
him by mock defences of his opponent, and feeble 
hopes that circumstances were not such as he sus- 
pected. 

At length, when the impression had been suffi- 
ciently strengthened by treacherous resistance, he 
chose a fitting opportunity, and allowed the intro- 
duction of those confirmations which he had pre- 
viously concerted with Allen. They amounted by 
no means to proofs, but they were so produced, as 
to have an equivalent effect upon the mind of Mr. 
Morton. Sackville knew that if any publicity 
were given to the accusation, Lacy would be able 
to clear himself, and it was necessary to deprive 
him of such an opportunity. For this purpose, 
he again wrought upon the mind of Mr. Morton, 
whose wayward feelings he could generally rule at 
pleasure. He impressed him with the impossibility 
of redress; the humiliation of an acknowledgment 
that he had been thus over-reached, and the mali- 
cious pleasure with which the world would triumph 
over the prostrate dupe, and hail the glories of suc- 
cessful treachery. He led Mr. Morton to feel, 


HERBERT LACY. 


I n n 
OO 

ihat it was better to bury his wrongs in his own 
bosom j and that as there was no evidence of that 
sort of unfairness on the part of Lacy which would 
tend to vitiate the election, his unavailing com- 
plaints would only serve to excite the derision of 
his opponent. 

By these means, Sackville at the same time pre- 
cluded tlje exculpation of Lacy, and embitered the 
enmity of IVlorton; and the latter made a positive 
determination, that nothing should . induce him to 
see the man whom he now thought he had such 
just and ample cause for detesting. Lacy, igno- 
rant of the feelings with which he was regarded, 
called twice at Mr. Morton’s and was not admit- 
ted. The first denial he conceived to be accident- 
al, but having been repulsed a second time, he be- 
gan to question with himself, whether Mr. Mor- 
ton objected to society, or had any peculiar grudge 
towards him. In this doubt he applied to Sack- 
ville. The answer was carelessly given, but it 
tended to reassure him. 

<‘It must be shyness rather than resentment,” 
said Sackville. Why should he bear you any 
ill will ? He can have nobody to thank for what 
has happened, but himself. The fact is, that his 
unfortunate circumstances have made him almost 
a recluse. He is ashamed of his present poverty, 
and does not like that it should be witnessed.” 
This seemed a very reasonable explanation, and it 
was so naturally given, that Lacy saw no ground 
for distrusting its correctness. 


VoL. II. 


12 


134 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XVL 


La ville est partag^e en diverses soci^t^s, qui sent comme aa^ 
tant de petites republiques, qui ont leurs loix, leurs usages, leu? 
argon, et leurs mots pour rire. 

Bruyere. 

Among those whom Mr. Morton saw with most 
repugnance and self-upbraiding, were his humble 
relations the Bagshawes. They were his equals 
in family, though not in connection, and were now 
his superiors in wealth. They now stood almost 
in the same relative situation to him, in which he 
once appeared to his less affluent neighbours, and 
he viewed in them a practical satire on his former 
self. He felt a strange contrariety of feeling to- 
wards them, and hardly knew how they should be 
treated. His conscience accused him of having 
slighted them in his prosperous days ; and pride, 
under the mask of a love of consistency, suggest- 
ed that it would be hardly becoming to show much 
friendliness and attention how to those whom he 
had formerly avoided. 

But then, they had once done him a kindness; 
and were still truly anxious to assist him, and they 
evinced such genuine good-heartedness, and total 
forgetfulness of all previous slights, that Mr. Mor- 
ton’s pride gave way, and he could not refrain from 
a gracious reception. It was perhaps fortunate that 
they were vulgar; for the equlibrium was thereby 
more than restored. Extractions being equal, Mr. 


HERBERT LACY. 


135 


Morton would have had nothing but alliance to set 
in the scale against the influence of their wealth, 
if he could not have borne down their vulgarity 
by the eclat of his own refinement. Had they 
been well-bred people, they might, notwithstand- 
ing their plebian name, have had some chance of 
mingling slightly in that class of society to which 
he had been admitted; but, as it was, their man- 
ners rendered it impossible, and his jealousy was 
thereby appeased. He would on no account have 
owned, even to himself, that he had thus regarded 
them in the possible situation of rivals; but, ne- 
vertheless, such were his feelings. 

Lady Louisa, who troubled her head much less 
about the Bagshawes, never viewed them in that 
light. Her consciousness of high and undisputed 
rank, entirely exempted her from such compari- 
sons. She did not conceive it possible that Mrs. 
Bagshavve and her daughter should ever quit the 
character of respectful inferiors, and she was satis- 
fied. She was quite conscious of their vulgarity; 
but it was not a physical annoyance, and she was 
not acutely sensible of any others. She had occa- 
sionally gone so far as to thin^ it a pity that her 
husband should have such low rclations — but that 
was more his affair than hers; and it did not ap- 
pear to her that she had any reason for being vio- 
lently ashamed of them. 

Mr. Bagshawe, since we saw him at Huntley 
Park, had received a considerable accession of for- 
tune by the death of one of his relations. He 
had at length resigned the ^^rofession of an attor- 
ney, which he had been latterly following rather 
lazily; and, in obedience to the urgent and oft-re- 
peated representations of his wife and daughters, 
had, early in the spring, quitted the legal quarter 
of the town, and given up his old neighbours and 
a good house for a worse and dearer one in Lower 


136 


HERBERT LACY. 


Grosvenor Street. He himself was not ambitious 
of change, and rather regretted it, when he com- 
pared the respective comforts of the two residences : 
but the ladies absolutely refused to stoop to such 
petty considerations. The situation, they thought, 
must amply compensate for all inferiority. With- 
in sight of Grosvenor-Square, and in the great 
thoroughfare from thence to Bond-Street, even a 
hovel must be preferable to the best of houses in 
those regions which have been proclaimed in par- 
liament as unknown. To Mrs. Bagshawe it seem- 
ed like a change of being, and she felt as if every 
thing that society could offer was now within her 
reach. Who shall describe the pleasure with which 
she viewed her new direction! She was even half 
sorry that the printer of her visiting card had de- 
prived her of the pleasure of writing it there. 

I cannot find that in any other city, ancient or 
‘ modern, this pride of place’V has acquired such 
strength as in London. Wonderful is the magic 
which lies in those words, a ‘‘good situation;^’ 
laudible the discrimination of some of its inhabi- 
tants. It would be almost possible, with their as- 
sistance, to make out a scale of the comparative 
gentility of the streets and squares. The claims 
of the latter would be easily settled. St. James’s 
and Grosvenor-Square would look down like rival 
potentates from a proud height of dignity on their 
humbler brethren of Berkley, Hanover, and Port- 
man; and these, in return, may discharge their 
contempt on the minor northern fry of Cavendish; 
ManchOvSter, Bryanstone, and Montague. But 
these can still treat others as inferiors. Many and 
nice are the gradations of square-hood: numerous 
are its steps of precedence. Even the distant 
Finsbury, separated from the “ world” like an- 
cient Britain, may have neighbours, in that remote 
and half-discovered region, with whom it may 


HERBERT LACY. 


137 


think it •''^foul scorn’’ to bc classed; and these 
again may have inferiors, the knowledge of whose 
existence has not yet travelled westward of the 
meridian of Charing-cross. 

Tell me your company, and I will tell what 
you are,” says an adage of no mean wisdom; but 
London would seem to scorn such extensive 
data, and limits the inquiry to Tell me youi 
street.” At the same time, singular to say, it is 
almost the only place where vicinity hardly ever 
produces acquaintance: it would rather seem to re- 
pel it; for a next-door neighbour is proverbially 
unknown. Wherein, then, consists the mighty 
magic of situation ? In truth we are somewhat in- 
sensible to its influence; but we know that many 
feel it strongly. Difficult as it may sometimes be 
to define the peculiar advantages of what is called a 
good situation, it is easy to trace the feeling which 
assigns such false importance to these minute and 
trivial distinctions. Look at the dense throng of 
London society, and this will furnish the expla- 
nation. It is a scene of desperate rivalry, where 
crowds press on like mariners from a wreck, fil- 
ling to the utmost the frail boats that are to bear 
them to the shore, and each feeling that he should be 
safe if his neighbour were drowned. It is an over 
G^’owded arena, where advancement is open to all 
who choose to struggle for it. There are no broad, 
impassible lines of demarcation; nothing that com- 
pels the aspirant to despair of admission to any 
extent of social honours: every claim, however 
trivial, may conduce to the desired success; and the 
pretensions of each individual are often made up 
of a number of particulars, too insignificant to be 
separately considered. Thus the resources of va- 
nity are taxed to the utmost; and he who can as- 
sert no other superiority over his immediate rivals, 
who are running with him the race of society, will 


138 


HERBERT LACT. 


probably discover that — he lives in a better situa- 
tion. 

The Bagshawes, in their migration, did but fol- 
low the feeling of the million; but they (and prin- 
cipally the lady) had augured too much from the 
happy transition. Mrs. Bagshawe seemed to have 
thought that their change of neighbourhood would 
necessarily be followed by a change of society: but 
she had not sufficiently considered that there is no 
neighbourhood in London; and two months had 
passed without any flattering results. She looked 
wistfully at the Court Guide, where she saw with 
pleasure their homely name figuring in the list by 
the side of titles; but she found that she was quite 
as far from any acquaintance with these personages 
as when two miles of building lay between them, 
Knockers were plied to the right and left: but such 
tantalizing peals seldom thundered at her door; and 
though the progress of her carriage at night was 
often checked by the throngs that flocked to neigh- 
bouring routs, she was not a whit the more invi- 
ted. She also saw less than formerly of her old 
acquaintance in the distant quarter that she had 
quitted. She questioned herself whether she had 
been guilty of any neglect, and feared, in the sim- 
plicity of her heart, that her friends, might accuse 
her of growing fine.’^ But they had not paid 
her the compliment of so unmerited a suspicion. 
She had gained nothing in their eyes by her migra- 
tion; and if they now called upon her less frequent- 
ly, it was for this plain reason, that she was farther 
out of their way. 

The house to which the Bagshawes now most 
willingly bent their course was that of the Mor- 
tons. Pity for their misfortunes produced a great- 
er friendliness of disposition towards them, and 
they felt a good-natured pleasure in paying them 
attention. A disciple of Rochefoucault might per- 


HERBERT LACY. 


139 


liaps have discovered that there was something in 
the misfortunes of the Mortons that was not en- 
tirely displeasing to them; and it might also be 
suggested that they hoped to profit by their rela- 
tions’ long acquaintance with the fashionable world. 
But it is an ungracious task to extract the little 
selfish alloy that links within the golden promise 
of a praise-worthy action. 

Civility’s last best vent in London is always an 
invitation to dinner. Routs and balls are for bow- 
ing acquaintance; but a dinner is the pledge of in- 
timacy. As such the Bagshawes viewed it; and 
as such they proposed it to the Mortons. Their 
proposal, however, had been twice made without 
success. Lady Louisa pleaded ill health, and Mr. 
Morton had an insuperable objection to stirring 
from home. At length, during the Easter recess, 
Tom Morton being come up from Oxford, and Mr. 
Bagshawe’s eldest hope” from Cambridge, it was 
suggested, that perhaps Miss Morton would not 
object to accompany her brother, and dine in Low- 
er Grosvenor Street. It was a proposal that was 
not much liked either by Agnes or her parents; 
but a wish to avoid giving offence to the Bagshawes 
induced them to comply. 


140 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Cette fatuit^ de quelques femmes de la ville, que cause en el- 
ks une mauvaise imitation de celles da la eour, est quelque chose 
de pire que la grossierek des femmes du peuple, et que la rusti- 
cite des villageoises: elle a sur toutes deux Taffectation de plus. 

Bruyere. 

On the appointed day, at a late hour (for the 
Bagshawes, thinking lateness fashionable, determi- 
ned to be correct in that at least,) Agnes and her 
brother prepared to Lower Grosvenor Street. — 
They were very cordially received: Mr. Bagshawe 
exerted his best powers of speech to give the wel- 
come; and his lady, glowing under a large red tur- 
ban, as gorgeous as a full blown peony, squeezed 
the small white fingers of Agnes, between her own 
fat hot hands, and dragged her off to_ the fire-side. 
She then introduced her immediately to a heavy- 
looking elderly couple of the name of Jones, who 
w^re said to have remembered seeing her when, 
as Mrs. Bagshawe said, exemplifying by action, 
she was ‘‘ not so high.^’ 

Who among our readers, lately arrived at wo- 
manhood, or manhood, will not sympathize with 
Agnes? Few of the minor miseries that wait on 
introductions are more annoying than the being pre- 
sented, or rather exhibited, to under-bred people 
who had seen you when you were a child. Topic 
and interest are all on their side; and you, the un- 
bappy presentee, have nothing to say, and little to 


HERBERT LACY. 


141 


feel, except the oppressive difficulty of being suf- 
ficiently grateful for the extent of their memory, 
and the curiosity with which they regard you. 
Then come the personal observations-r-the growth 
— the likeness — and the alteration—and the ne- 
ver should have known you;’’ or the assurances of 
instantaneous recognition; to neither of which re- 
marks have you any thing to reply; and the good 
people con you over as unceremoniously as if you 
were still the child they left you, and seem almost 
surprised to find that you behave like a grown up 
person. 

All this did Agnes undergo from Mr. and Mrs. 
Jones; a Mr. and Mrs. Jones whom she was not 
conscious of having ever seen before, and of whose 
history she knew nothing. She envied her bro- 
ther for having ‘‘ bloomed unseen” in his days of 
childhood, and for his present exemption from all 
recognition. In consideration of her own distress- 
es, she could hardly feel inclined to reprove the 
repulsivensss of his bow to them, and the abrupt- 
ness with which he turned away from them to talk 
to Richard Bagshawe, whom half a year passed at 
Cambridge, since we met him last at Huntley Park, 
had in some degree tended to improve. 

College life was a topic of common interest ta^ 
the two young men, and they began to discuss the 
comparative merits of the sister Universities. The 
conversation that ensued might have astonished an 
uninitiated listener, who should expect to hear En- 
glish flowing, in its utmost purity, from the lips 
of two students fresh from these celebrated seats 
of learning. But the English of their halls and 
combination-rooms bears too often a comparative 
purity with the Latin of the schools. Universities 
have their shibboleth, as well as the Ring. These 
two young men were both in their freshman’s year, 
and were rather unnecessarily proud of their newly- 


142 


HERBERT LACIT. 


acquired jargon. They talked of men with whom 
they had wined; the factious struggles of “ Town’^ 
and Gown the necessaryevils of scouts ’’ 
and gyps;’^ battles,” meaning those of the 
buttery; and ‘‘commons,” not the third estate, 
but of that kind which are sometimes called short. 
Then spake they of their studies. The Cantab ri- 
dicule a Johnian, who muzzed hard the last term 
for a Senior Op., that he might stand for the me- 
dal, but only got a wooden spoon ; and the Oxon- 
ian calmly reproved the presumption of a man 
who had taken up the Poets for his “ Little go,” 
and, after all, was under the line. The adminis- 
tration of Justice was compared. The case was 
cited of a Brazen-Nose man who was threatened 
with rustication for merely cutting hall and chap- 
el; and the sister University supplied an instance of 
one who was put out of sizings and commons 
for refusing to cap the dean. Various other cases 
were produced and compared, including crimes 
not mentioned in the Decalogue, and punishments 
the names of which are not to be found in John- 
son’s dictionary. 

While this classical dialogue was taking place, 
Mrs. Bagshawe, who had made Agnes fully ac- 
quainted with Mr. and Mrs. Jones, was entertain- 
ing all three with full particulars respecting the 
purchase of their present house. Its conveniences, 
appurtenances, lease, ground-rent, and former pos- 
sessor, all had tlieir places in her narration ; and the 
detail might have been wire-drawn to a still great- 
er length, if her attention had not been sudden- 
ly directed to the more interesting subject of her 
neighbours. The second Miss Bagshawe, who 
had been amusing herself with looking out of the 
window, broke in upon her tale by exclaiming 
aloud that Lord John Wharton was just returning 
from his morning ride. 


HERBERT LACY» 


143 


^^Dear me, how late he is!’’ said Mrs. Bag- 
shawe, with all the interest of an intimate acquain- 
tance. ‘^But he is generally late; and ' which 
horse is he riding, Lucy ? Is it the gray or the 
black ? 

‘‘The bay,” said Miss Lucy, who seemed to 
have been a critical observer of Lord John’s 
horses. 

“ I am sorry it isn’t the gray,” said her mother, 
“that Mrs. Jones might have taken a look at it. 
His lordship rides a charming grey horse some- 
times, Ma’am. He is a very elegant young man, 
is Lord John; and Lady Jane, his sister, is a very 
elegant young woman. She goes out a riding too. 
They live close by at their father’s house, the 
Marquis of Northallerton’s, next door but one. 
Ma’am, and that is the reason we see so much of 
them.” 

“ You are acquainted with them, then ?” said 
x^gnes. 

“Why,” said Mrs. Bagshawe, with a slight de- 
gree of hesitation, “ we know them very well — by 
sight; but I cannot exactly say that we know them, 
at present, to speak to; but some of our servants 
are quite intimate with some of the marquis’s peo- 
ple, and we see and hear a good deal of them, one 
way or another.” 

Agnes felt more inclined to blush than smile at 
the rude notion which poor Mrs. Bagshawe evi- 
dently entertained, that the intimacy of the ser- 
vants in the respective households, should be like- 
ly to promote the acquaintance of the masters; and 
she feared least her deep-dyed vulgarity should be 
too apparent even to the dull perceptions of Mr. 
and Mrs. Jones. But one glance at their sober 
countenances was sufficient to re-assure her, and 
she earnestly hoped that no person of a more sen- 
sitive temperament might be added to the party. 


144 


HERBERT LACY. 


At this moment, Mr. Bagshawe pulled out his 
watch, said something, with an air at once wag- 
gish and complaining, of its being “ half past din- 
ner time, and time to dine again,^’ and added, 
that he hoped Mr. Lacy would not prove himself 
Mr. Lazy, but would soon favour them with his 
presence. Agnes quite forgot to pay to this inimi- 
table pun, the expected compliment of a smile, in 
her surprise at the very unwelcome recurrence of 
such a name, and she found upon inquiry that it 
was the very Mr. Lacy whom, under present cir- 
cumstances, she was most unwilling to meet. In 
addition to her natural reluctance to see the vulga- 
rity of her relations, the Bagshawes, exposed to 
his discriminating eye, she had many other reasons 
for wishing to avoid him. Bound as she was to 
Sackville, to whom she could feel no attachment, 
she did not wish to be exposed to the society of 
him whom she so strongly preferred. 

The recent misfortunes of her family had made 
her shrink from the first collision with every per- 
son who had known them in happier days, and 
above all, she had been taught to consider. Lacy 
as the secret cause of their late misfortunes. It was 
Sackville’s aim to prejudice her mind, no less than 
her father’s, and he had not been utterly unsuccess- 
ful. She earnestly wished to think the accusations 
untrue; but she had nothing to oppose to those cir- 
cumstances which Sackville seemed anxious rather 
to conceal and palliate, than to exaggerate or ob- 
trude. Both in obedience to her father’s wishes, 
and out of charity towards Lacy, she had abstained 
from mentioning the mischievous interference of 
which he was suspected. She longed to hear his 
vindication, but she knew not how to obtain it, 
for it was difficult to inform him of the feelings 
with which he was regarded by her father, without 
incurring the danger of another hostile meeting. 


HERBERT LACY. 


145 


Her father^s irritability had been increased by his 
misfortunes; and previous occurrences had led her 
to fear that an angry altercation might terminate as 
seriously as before. 

She therefore considered it the part of prudence, 
to withhold from Lacy all information of the 
charges which had been brought against him; but 
at the same time to try to discover how far he was 
conscious of having merited an injurious accusa- 
tion. Scarcely had she decided how to receive 
him, than a carriage was heard to stop at the door 
— then a knocking — then footsteps on the stairs, 
and Lacy was announced. 

After accosting Mr. Bagshawe, who met him at 
the door, Lacy’s eyes were naturally directed first 
towards the lady of the house, and it vras not until 
he had exchanged a few sentences with her, that 
he looked round at the rest of the company. Then 
it was that, turning from Mrs. Bagshawe with the 
intention of bestowing a bow of acknowledgment 
on her daughters, he first became sensible of the 
presence of Agnes. He almost started when he 
saw her, and visibly changed colour; and surprise 
and embarrassment were apparent in his counte- 
nance. Agnes perhaps looked more composed; 
but her heart beat violently, and she felt as if she 
could hardly breathe. 

There was much passing in the minds of each 
that must tend to render this meeting agitating and 
painful. The duel, the election, Lacy’s engage- 
ment to Miss Hartley, and the discovery of Mr. 
Morton’s embarrassment, had all taken place since 
the last time that they had even seen each other, 
and each of these circumstances brought with it a 
long train of agitating thoughts. The last time 
they had met, except in the midst of crowds, was 
on the morning after the ball at Westcourt, and in 
that interview they had allowed their mutual sen- 

VoL. II. 13 


146 


HERBERT LACY. 


timents to escape, and had uttered words that 
could not be recalled or forgotten. They were 
each conscious of the necessity that existed for re- 
pressing all indication of what they felt, and of en- 
trenching themselves behind the defences of frigid 
politeness, and the safest common-place. 

It seemed difficult to avoid subjects possessing 
any degree of interest to either, that might not en- 
danger their mutual composure. Inquiries after 
Mr. Morton and Lady Louisa were timidly made 
by Lacy, and very briefly answered by Agnes. 
Sackville’s was an interdicted name, as well as that 
of Miss Hartley. Lord and Lady Malvern might 
more safely be approached, but a conversation be- 
ginning with them had led somehow or other to 
the Appleby s at whose house Lacy and Agnes had 
first met. They talked to each other as if it were 
a duty, a penance, which, however unwilling, they 
were bound to perform. To Lacy, it would have 
seemed a sort of sacrilege to turn his attention 
from Agnes to any other person, and he had not 
the power to quit her side, though conscious that 
he wished it. 

But Agnes herself dispelled the painful charm 
that held him. Her brother was standing near 
him, and she begged to introduce him to Lacy, and 
the latter then talked to him till dinner was an- 
nounced. Neither Agnes nor Lacy wished to be 
near each other at table. Agnes accepted, with 
more pleasure than she could ever have expected, 
the arm of Mr. Jones; and Lacy, in spite of Mrs. 
Bagshawe’s hints to him to ‘‘take Miss Morton,’^ 
persisted in offering his services to the lady of the 
mansion. They succeeded in being far asunder, 
and were as widely separated as was possible. 
They were even favoured in their object, by the 
unnecessary size of the table, and two blanks left 
by defaulting guests, whose absence Mr. Bagshawe 
feelingly deplored. 


HERBERT LACY. 


147 


Agnes had been too much occupied by the many 
reflections which Lacy’s presence had conjured up, 
to think with uneasiness of the impression which 
the vulgarity of her relations was likely to make 
upon him. It must, however, be said in justice to 
the Bagshawes, that they appeared to much greater 
advantage at their own table than elsewhere, and 
that their entertainment was rather creditable, and 
served very tolerably, to support the pretensions 
which they thought suitable to their new abode. 
Their plate looked as well as if it had been a hun- 
dred years in the family, and their cook had given 
them as good a dinner as if they had been fashiona- 
ables of the first distinction. The ‘‘pomp and 
circumstance” of polite society are too much at 
the command of wealth, to be denied to the mo- 
nied vulgar; and, consequently, those who seek for 
characteristic distinctions must generally look for 
them rather in the persons themselves than in their 
tables and establishments. 

The present scene suggested a similar thought to 
Lacy when he was addressed by Mrs. Bagshawe, 
who asked him to take “ a few grass’’ (meaning 
asparagus) with his chicken. Conversation had not 
entirely slumbered. Mr. Bagshawe had enlivened 
his end of the table by firing off, very successfully, 
a favourite joke upon a saddle of mutton. 

“Mr. Jones, do you like it cut saddle- wise, or 
bridle-wise?” said the wily Mr. Bagshawe. 

“ Saddle- wise, if you please,” said the unsus- 
picious Mr. Jones. 

“ I like it cut bridle-wise,” was the prompt re- 
ply, “ for then I am sure to have a bU in my 
mouth.” 

After some reflection, Mr. Jones rewarded the 
punster with a hearty laugh, and ended by protes- 
ting that he had never heard that joke before. 
Mr. Jones was no joker, but he did his best, in his 


148 


HERBERT LACY. 


way, to be entertaining and instructive. He was 
one of those persons who have a genius for doubt- 
ing; and he favoured the company with many in- 
dications of his peculiar talent. He doubted whe- 
ther the world was grown wiser: whether Maca- 
damization would succeed in streets: whether the 
Whigs would ever come into office; whether pope- 
ry was not as dangerous as ever: and whether 
such a town as London had any right to a uni- 
versity. 

Meanwhile Mrs. and Miss Bagshawe had been 
ranging with Lacy through the classic land of Ita- 
ly. They had been at Florence, Rome, and Na- 
ples; and though they could not talk of their ‘‘ Ra- 
phaels, Correggious, and stuff, so fluently as 
Mr. Bagshawe, they had much to say on the socie- 
ty, scenery and accommodations. 

‘‘We were at Room, Mr. Lacy,’’ said Mrs. 
Bagshawe. “ I suppose you have been there. 
Every body goes to Room now-a-days. It is a 
delightful place in the season. To my mind it is 
as good as Bath or Cheltenham every bit, — only 
there are no waters to drink — it does not come up 
to them there to be sure.” 

“ That is very true,” said Lacy, suppressing a 
smile with some difficulty. “ I had never consi- 
dered that. What then do you think can be the 
reason why so many from our country go there?” 

“ I suppose they go for the ceremonies,” repli- 
ed Mrs. Bagshawe. “ Dear heart! w'hat a sight of 
ceremonies there are! We made a point of going 
to them all. You know the saying, Mr. Lacy, 
‘ Do at Room as they do at Room.^ And so, as I 
said, we made a point of going to all the ceremo- 
nies. We saw horses blessed, and lambs blessed, 
and palm trees, and candles, and I don’t know 
what besides: and we saw a doll carried round the 
Harry Scaly Church, with drums and trumpets 


HERBERT LACY. 


149 


playing before it, like any thing, and go out and 
bless the people. What a deal of blessing there is 
there! As Mr Bagshawe used to say, it is a 
blessed place altogether. But the Holy Week! — 
that was the finest thing of all: and ! believe I may 
safely say that I went through every bit of it. I 
cannot think now how I bore it ; but I believe I am pret- 
ty tough. A gentleman said to me, ‘ Ma’am, you 
must have the strength of a horse,’ and I don’t be- 
lieve it was merely a compliment. Really there 
used to be terrible crowding and squeezing some- ' 
times. Eliza, do you remember the day when the 
Pope waited at table upon those pilgrim people? — 
What work we had to get to see him ! There was 
a little box, like a pen for poultry, stuck up in the 
middle of the room, and I knew it was the best 
place for seeing, so up I went. Somebody told me 
it was meant for the grandees. ‘ Oh!’ says I, ‘ a 
fig for your grandees — I am not come all this way 
to be put about by them!’ So on we pushed, didn’t 
we, Eliza? I didn’t see any thing after all; but I 
did get in, I will say that.’^ 

Eliza, whose disposition seemed less enterpri- 
sing than her mother’s, said, with a languid air, 
that she doubted whether they had been repaid for 
their exertions. ‘‘ What I enjoyed most,” said 
she, were our parties of pleasure.” 

Oh, yes, the parties of pleasure,” said Mrs. Bag- 
shawe. “ I shall never forget that night at the 
Coliseum. We went there by moonlight, Mr. 
Lacy, and took a cold collation with us, and had our 
supper, quite comfortable; and a very merry party 
we were. Eliza, do you remember Mr. Sharp 
carrying off a bottle of soda water into one of the 
dark passages, and making the cork fly, and groan- 
ing, to make us think that somebody had shot 
himself? And then his telling us all about the 
banditti coming down and hiding themselves there ? 

13 * 


150 


HERBERT LACT. 


And then you know, you and Miss Spratt went to 
look for an echo, and Dick, a rogue, stole round the 
other way and made one; and when you halloo- 
ed; he hallooed, and when you clapped your 
hands, he clapped his hands. I have laughed many 
a good time since with thinking of that scheme 
of Dick’s. Dick, we were talking about you. 
Do you remember what fun you had at the Coli- 
seum ?” 

Ay, precious good fun,” said Dick, and went 
on eating as before. 

It is a curious place, that Coliseum,” pursued 
Mrs. Bagshawe, turning again to Lacy. If you 
ever observed, Mr. Lacy, they have built up that 
outer wall afresh at the two ends. I doubt whe- 
ther they will ever be able to finish it all round. 
They generally do things by halves in Italy.” 

‘^But; mamma, it is a ruin,” interposed Miss 
Bagshawe; you know it was never meant to be 
finished.” 

‘‘ Well — true — I suppose it was not. I cannot 
say that I am very partial to ruins. I don’t think 
many of them are very ornamental. Some folks 
are very fond of them. What is your taste, Mr. 
Lacy ?” 

The more perfect a building is, the. better I like 
it,” said Lacy. 

Well, that is precisely my way of thinking,” 
continued Mrs. Bagshawe, pleased at the supposed 
accordance of their tastes. She then proceeded to 
touch upon the society of Rome and other Anglo- 
Italian cities, and afibrded Lacy a good deal of 
amusement by the peculiarity of her views, and 
the many strange anecdotes with which her re- 
marks were interlarded. They might, perhaps, 
have afforded amusement to some of our readers, 
but a taste for personality is too much the literary 
vice of the day; and we do not wish to indulge 


HERBERT LACY. 151 

the growing mania even by giving insertion to Mrs. 
Bagshawe’s on-dits. 

Dinner at length was ended, and so was the se- 
dentary conclave held by the gentleman afterwards, 
one of those reverential tributes to the wisdom of 
our ancestors, which we trust the good sense and 
sobriety of the present age will soon induce it to 
discontinue. 

Lacy left the dining-room with a strong desire 
to engage Agnes again in conversation. Her pre- 
sence seemed to give him pain, and yet there was 
an attraction in it, which he could not resist, and 
much had occurred to his mind during their sepa- 
ration at the dinner table, which he now wished to 
say. He thought he perceived in her manner a 
more than necessary degree of reserve, and he 
longed to penetrate the motives, and discover what 
were the feelings with which she really regarded 
him. 

The experiment was difficult and hazardous, 
considering their respective situations. But at 
the moment he thought not of that, but merely of 
the indulgence of what seemed a reasonable curi- 
osity. Some arrivals had been heard during the 
stay of the gentleman in the dining room; and Lacy 
trusted that this influx might favour his object, and 
enable him to escape more easily from the clutches 
of Mrs. and Miss Bagshawe. 

On entering the drawing-room, he found many 
fresh visiters; and after undergoing one or two in- 
troductions at the hands of Mrs. Bagshawe, he look- 
ed round for Agnes. But unhappily he found her 
quite unapproachable, closely hemmed in by other 
ladies, so that he could have said nothing to her 
above a whisper that would not have been audible 
to the whole coterie. He also unguardedly came 
within the influence of Mrs. Bagshawe’s notice and 
was again compelled to talk and listen to her. 


152 


HERBERT LACY. 


She began upon the subject of music, preparato- 
ry, as it afterwards appeared to a performance by 
Miss Bagshawe. was thinking, Mr. JLacy,’^ 
said she, ‘‘ whether I had ever seen you at the 
Opera.” 

Lacy believed not, having never had the pleasure 
of meeting her there. 

‘‘Why, no,” said Mrs. Bagshawe; “and in- 
deed, at present, you would not know where to 
look for us; for the fact is, we have no regular box. 
I believe we must have one next season; and, in- 
deed,” pursued she, putting on a prudent face, and 
endeavouring to mask the loftiness of her aspira- 
tions under the plea of a little economy, “ I am 
not sure that it would not be the cheaper way, if 
one is to go to the Opera much, for boxes are ris 
of late, and there is no end of dabbing about, now 
a box here, and now’ a box there, and one is never 
settled and comfortable. What do you advise. 
Sir ?” 

“ To take a box for the season,” said Lacy, 
“ if you prefer it.” 

“Well, I am sure I am glad to hear you think 
so. We cannot come on without the Opera no 
how. I hope you like Madame Pasta, Sir. I 
cannot agree with any body that does not like Ma- 
dame Pasta. I only wish she would not stick so 
to her Italian. I do long to hear her sing a right 
good English song. Why cannot she give us 
‘ God save the King,’ and ‘Rule Britannia,’ now 
and then, like Madame Catalani ? Are you par- 
tial to English songs. Sir ?” 

Lacy said he was. 

“ Eliza, Mr. Lacy, likes English songs: cannot 
you sing us one or two ? There is a song I used 
to sing — ‘Tell me, bubbling echo, why.’ ” 

“ Babbling echo,” said Miss Bagshawe. 

“ It used to be ‘ bubbling’ in my book,” said 


HERBERT LACV. 


153 


her mother; ^‘but never mind the words, only- 
sing it.^’ 

But the young lady remonstrated, and said she 
could not sing English music; she had not learned 
the style; she was only equal to the easy cadences 
of Rossini; and, acccordingly, she sat down, and 
trilled away at an air out of ‘ Semiramide. ’ 

The air was well chosen, being a noisy one, and 
consequently, imposing no check upon conversa- 
tion. Soft plaintive airs are decidedly most pre- 
judicial to the interests of general society. They 
produce attention, spread an awful sense of deco- 
rum over the company, and lull them gradually into 
silence. They are a shameful infringement upon 
the liberty of the tongue — whereas nobody is afraid 
to chatter under the cover of a spirited bravura. 

The music had caused a movement in the room. 
Those who were tired of their neighbours took ad- 
vantage of the opportunity to change their places; 
and among these was Agnes. Lacy was attentive 
to the opportunity which these new arrangements 
might give him. He saw a vacant seat by the side 
of that which Agnes had taken, and he immediate- 
ly occupied it. 

I am sorry,” said he, lowering his voice so 
as to be heard only by her, not to have had the 
pleasure of seeing Mr. Morton since our meeting 
at the election. I hope he knows that I took the 
liberty of calling upon him twice.” 

<‘My father knows it,” replied Agnes; ‘‘and 
if he has not acknowledged your civility, I hope 
you can excuse him. You know our present cir- 
cumstances — I need not try to disguise them — they 
have depressed him a good deal, and made him ra- 
ther averse to society, and less attentive to form 
than before.” 

“ I can easily imagine it,” said Lacy; “ but I 
hope you will not think that I was induced to speak 


154 


HERBEKT LACY. 


by any foolish stickling for ceremony. Pray, if 
you can, give Mr. Morton to understand that I 
shall not wish to draw him into any sort of return. 
Perhaps I ought to apologize for having ventured 
to intrude; but we met last as opponents. It was 
that circumstance which made me anxious to see 
him.” 

^^Had you, then, reason to suppose that he would 
bear you any ill will ?” said Agnes, 

^‘God forbid!” replied Lacy; nor do I sec 
any foundation for such an idea. The contest was 
conducted with as little warmth as was possible; 
and we shook hands on the day of our last meeting. 
But still, we were opponents; and, having so met, 
I was desirous of seeing him again. Do not, how- 
ever, suppose that I am inclined to press it. Only 
tell me that you think a visit would be considered 
intrusive, and I will abstain for the future.” 

Agnes looked perplexed. 

I am not authorized,^’ said she, ‘‘ to tell you 
any thing of the kind; but I hope you will not be 
offended if I give you my own impressions. They 
are, that my father, under present circumstances, 
had rather not see you. He scarcely allows him- 
fself to be visible to any but his particular friends.” 

She turned away her head after she had said this, 
as if wishing to put a stop to the conversation; and 
presently rose and walked to the instrument. She 
soon afterwards made her departure, without hav- 
ing afforded Lacy any further opportunity of ad- 
dressing her; and he himself, having then lost the 
only object which made the party tolerable to him, 
presently followed her example. 


HEHBERT LACr. 


155 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


True virtue is like precious odours — sweeter tke more incensed 
and crushed. 


Bacojjt. 


Lacy felt, with sorrow, that his former, and 
now hopeless attachment to Agnes, was strongly 
awakened by the past interview. He had seen 
her in a new point of view, and one in which she 
was especially calculated to interest his feelings. 
He looked back to the period when she first won 
his affections. He remembered how the brilliant 
fascination of her beauty had been heightened by 
the elegant vivacity of her manners, and the play- 
ful spirit of her conversation. These were now 
absent; but, in their place, there was a dignified, 
yet plaintive composure, a charm which the hand 
of sorrow had softened rather than dimmed, and 
which seemed to make her image sink still deeper 
into his heart. Like the calm and mournful beau- 
ty of a moonlight scene, it possessed a more en- 
chaining interest than all the sunny blaze of her 
former attractions. Something might, perhaps, be 
attributed to the circle in which he met her. He 
thought he was seeing her to a disadvantage; but 
he was mistaken. The effect of contrast only ren- 
dered her natural elegance more conspicuous. 

There was a superiority about Agnes which was 
strongly felt by the Bagshawes, and never so much 
as now. Miss Bagshawe, with all, those uneasy 


156 


HERBERT LACY. 


aspirations after elegance and fashion, which, in 
half-bred people, are apt to lead to affectation, was 
tolerably quick and observant. She had long 
since entertained a jealous sense of the superior, 
refinement of her cousin; but at that time Agnes 
had great advantages in point of society and con- 
nections, and had been raised upon a pedestal of 
fashion which precluded any thing like a fair com- 
parison; and Miss Bagshawe could be comforted 
by the reflection that, but for these adventitious 
aids, the superiority might be very doubtful; and 
that, if places had been changed, the scale might 
even turn in her favour. But now the anticipated 
change was almost made. They were in posses- 
sion of increased affluence, and living in a fashion- 
able quarter, while the Mortons were depressed to 
poverty, and buried in the homely seclusion of the 
Alpha Cottages. Agnes had renounced society, 
and had never in her conversation made any allu- 
sion to the gaieties of the season. Miss Bagshawe, 
thou'gh never seen at parties that were at all of a 
select description, had made good use of her eyes 
at the Park, at the Opera, and at a crowded chari- 
ty ball, which she had attended the week before, 
and had gained a tolerable knowledge of the exte- 
rior of most persons of distinction, and could talk 
about them almost as fluently as if they were her 
intimate acquaintance. She had noticed several 
remarkable flirtations — could tell how Lady Such- 
a-one looked — knew, by sight, most of the patro- 
nesses for the last fancy ball, and could mention 
what ladies belonged to such and such quadrilles — 
was au /ait on the subject of what was or what 
was not worn at present, and could support her 
opinion, in case of need, by citing the example of 
the Duchess of So-and-so. She had also been 
abroad, while Agnes had not. In short, she now 
seemed to have many advantages over her cousin, 


HiiKBERT LACr. 


157 


and to be in every respect qualified — aided, as she 
was, by costlier a\tire — to be the more brilliant per- 
son of the two* 

Yet all this availed her nothing. The superi- 
ority was still as conspicuous as before; and it was 
the more striking because it seemed to be preser- 
ved unconciously, and without eflfort. That Ag- 
nes should be able to renounce and disregard all to 
which Miss Bagshawe was hopelessly aspiring, was 
also a reflection that conveyed a strong and humi- 
liating sense of the real distance which still exis- 
ted between them. But her admiration of Agnes 
was no longer blended with envy of her superior 
advantages; on the contrary, pity for her present 
trials served to convert it into generous regard. 

Lacy’s parting interview with Agnes was not 
entirely satisfactory, though there was perhaps 
nothing in her words to which he could attach an 
unpleasant import. He was disquieted, less by 
what she said than by what she had failed to say. 
There was also a measured coldness, a careful se- 
lection of phrase, differing widely from her usual 
address, an unwillingness to re-assure him, and a 
chilling reserve of manner, which induced him to 
surmise that in the domestic circle of the Mortons 
his name was not received as one of happy omen. 

These thoughts pursued him long after he had 
quitted the presence of Agnes. With a view to 
satisfy his mind, he called upon Mr. Bagshawe, 
whom he knew to have frequent communication 
with the Mortons. He spoke to him in a confi- 
dential tone; he mentioned the long period of cool- 
ness which had existed between the families; the 
duel w’ithMr. Morton; their opposition at the elec- 
tion; Mr. Morton’s present unwillingness to see 
him; and the irritable nature of his, disposition. 
He then stated his own fears lest that gentleman 
should conceive himself to have any sufficient 
VoL. II. 14 


158 


HERBERT LACT. 


grounds for ill will, and indulge his former feel-* 
ings of dislike. He entreated him to discover, as 
delicately as he could, whether ahy such feelings 
existed, and assured him that in so doing he-might 
consider himself as acting the part of a mediator 
between them. 

Mr. Bagshawe, who, in spite of his affectation 
and pompous airs in society, had a good deal of 
shrewdness, which had been sharpened by his le- 
gal practice, entered readily into Lacy’s ideas, and 
promised to do his best to set his mind at ease 
upon the point in question. It was undoubtedly 
Lacy’s attachment to Agnes, excited anew by their 
late meeting, which rendered him so sensitively 
solicitous of the good opinion of her family, and 
so easily wounded by her apparent coldness. He 
dared not own his sentiments even to himself, 
plighted as he now was to another. Led away 
by the generosity and delicacy of his feelings, 
which, during a period of illness, had been so un- 
fairly wrought upon to engage himself to one 
whom he could not love, he had often bitterly re- 
gretted the fancied necessity of his sacrifice. Time 
and cool observation had also rendered him some- 
what sceptical as to the extent of that attachment 
which Miss Hartley was supposed to feel for him. 
Still nothing had occurred which w^arranted a 
breach of the engagement; and though the parting, 
when he went up to London after the election, had 
been conducted with a very philosophical spirit of 
composure, they had since that lime maintained 
the proprieties of correspondence with sufficient 
regularity, and had contrived to write more ten- 
derly than they had ever found it possible to speak. 

The motives by wffiich Lacy and Agnes w ere 
each of them led to dispose of their hands in op- 
position to their affections, were, viewed as sacri- 
fices, certainly meritorious; but they involved an 
infringement of obligations, perhaps higher than 


HERBER-P LACY. 


159 


those which they were then regarding. The mar- 
riage vow is a solemn engagement to ‘‘love and 
honour;’’ and it maybe questioned whether, under 
any circumstances, of however urgent a nature, it 
ican properly be entered into by those who feel a 
distrust of their own ability to fulfil its important 
injunctions. 

But this balance of duties is too nice and diffi- 
cult to be settled satisfactorily by any but the calm 
observer. They who are themselves interested in 
the result, are ever liable to be swayed by feeling, 
rather than by judgment; and their errors, if they 
are not of the heart, must be treated with compa- 
rative leniency by those who, with the best inten- 
tions, may still be weak and erring as themselves. 

One morning, about a week after Lacy’s meet- 
ing with Agnes, he received a visit from Mr. Bag- 
shawe, who came to tell him the result of an Ln: 
terview with Mr. Morton. After tantalizing Lacy 
for some time, with a wordy account of the adroit- 
ness with which he brought the conversation to 
turn upon him, he proceeded to unfold the state of 
Mr. Morton’s sentiments. 

Here Lacy stopped him. “Excuse my inter- 
ruption,” he said; “ but I beg that you will let 
me first assure you, that I have no wish to hear 
any thing that has been mentioned by Mr. Morton 
under the pledge of secrecy. I am certain that 
you can have no intention to‘ commit any such 
breach of confidence: I do not, therefore, speak 
with reference to you, but with a view to clear 
myself. I could not bear that you should, by pos- 
sibility, conceive that my intentions were less ho- 
nourable, than I am sure your conduct will be.” 

Mr. Bagshawe assured him that he was bound 
by no pledge to withhold any thing that he was 
now going to mention. He then stated that he 
had found great displeasure to exist against him in 


160 


HERBERT LACY. 


the mind of Mr. Morton; and that the cause of 
this, was a belief that the execution of the writ had 
been an electioneering measure, timed b}^ his di- 
rection, so as to trouble and defeat the opposite 
party; that the suing creditor was the brother-iiin^ 
Jaw of one of the Wichcombe burgesses, who was 
most warm in his opposition to Mr. Morton; and 
that a letter had been seen by Mr. Morton, which 
proved the existence of a plot against him, and 
Lacy’s participation in it. 

Mr. Bagshawe could not learn more than that 
such a letter existed. It was not in Mr. Morton’s 
possession; and that gentleman would not tell to 
whom it had been written, or in whose hands he 
had seen it. 

Lacy was astonished, and shocked to find him- 
self considered guilty of so gross a piece of trea- 
chery. The circumstance of the letter also threw 
a more unpleasant light upon the subject, and seem- 
ed to indicate that his own character had been de- 
liberately undermined. He knew that no letter 
existed which could, with any truth, tax him even 
with a previous knowledge of the execution which 
was hanging over Mr. Morton; and it was there- 
fore evident, that the one alluded to had been pre- 
pared with a malicious intention. 

How to clear himself was now the question. — 
He first thought of requiring from Mr. Morton a 
distinct statement of the charges against him, and 
the foundations on which they rested; but it oc- 
curred to him, that this demand might possibly be 
refused; and as a serious quarrel would then be the 
inevitable consequence, he resolved to dispense with 
this measure, until he had previously tried more 
cautious and less obtrusive methods of Justification. 

In the prosecution of these, we must now leave 
him, and direct our attention to other circumstan- 
ces which were occurring in the mean time. 


HERBERT LACY. 


161 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Throughout the world, if it were sought, 

Fayre words ynoughe a man shall fynde; 

They be good chepe, they cost right nought, 

Their substance, it is only wynde; 

But well to say, and so to meane. 

That swete accord is seldome sene. 

Sir T. Wy^tt. 

Easter was now come. No amelioration ap- 
peared in the circumstances of the Mortons; and 
Agnes, who had hoped that time would render her 
parents more reconciled to their situation, was doom- 
ed in this to be disappointed. The first shock of 
their distress had made them indifferent to many 
minor points of comfort; and they had steeled them- 
selves to the necessity of bearing even more than 
they had to endure, and secretly gloried in their 
petty heroism. But these feelings had subsided ; 
they had leisure to review their wants, and con- 
trast their present with their former life; and, day 
after day, they appeared more desirous to forget 
tlieir poverty, and do as they were accustomed. 

It was the task of Agnes to recal them to pru- 
dence and resignation; and a melancholy task it 
was, especially for one who, like her, had almost 
ndthin her grasp the means of making their exis- 
tence so much more endurable. She read in their 
countenances the belief of her power to assist them. 
She began to reproach herself for not having used 
sufficient exertions, and resolved to apply once 
more to Sackviile. ‘ She had already been assured 
14 * 


162 


HERBERT LACY. 


by him, that to apply any part of her fortune to 
the payment of her father’s debts, would be a vio- 
lation of the wishes of her deceased aunt. But 
it did not, she thought, necessarily follow from 
thence that she was forbidden to administer to her 
parent’s comfort; and she trusted that something 
out of the accumulating surplus income, over and 
above her yearly allowance, might be granted her 
for that purpose. In strict justice, to pay the debts 
would be a more honourable employment of the 
money, than to devote it to the pleasures of him 
who had contracted them; but it was not likely 
that Agnes, full of the griefs of her parents, should 
take this severe view of the case. 

It was about a week before the dinner at the 
Bagshawes, that Agnes first made her application 
to Sackville. He heard her with an air of sincere 
interest, and professed to enter warmly into her 
feelings. He said that what she required Was not 
impossible, but that there were difficulties which 
stood in the way of it. Such a measure required 
the concurrence of both the trustees; and however 
willing he himself might be to assist her, there 
was no prospect of Mr. Hawksworth agreeing to 
anything of the kind. ‘^But,” said Sackville, 
“there are other means of obtaining what you re- 
quire.” 

Agnes eagerly intreated him to adopt them. 

“ Most willingly,” replied he, with a smile, 
shall want only your consent. ” 

He paused for a moment, looked earnestly at her 
anxious countenance, approached nearer to her, and 
proceeded. “Your aunt, whose memory, I am 
sure, will ever be dear to both of us, provided in 
her will that the whole income of the fortune she 
left you, should pass into your hands, not simply 
on your arriving at the age of twenty-four, but 
even previously, in case of the occurrence of an 


HERBERT LACY. 


16 S 


event, which I think I hardly need recal to your 
mind. It is your marriage, my dear Agnes, which 
will give you the fullest power of relieving the dis- 
tresses of your parents. Then you will be at lib- 
erty to contribute more fully to their happiness j 
and I need not speak of the happiness which you 
will confer upon your fortunate husband, who, I 
am sure, will have a sincere pleasure in joining his 
humble endeavours to restore your father and Lady 
Louisa to the station which is their right. 

There is only one person, to whom I cannot 
venture to say that this expedient would be accept- 
able or advantageous, and that is yourself. To the 
others I will not scruple to say, that your immediate 
marriage would be an inestimable benefit.’^ 

Agnes heard him with an agitation that was vis- 
ible, chiefly, in her increasing paleness. Her eyes 
were fixed on the ground, and the expression of 
her countenance was melancholy and anxious. 

‘‘ Mr. Sackville,’^ said she, I engaged last 
September to accept you, within the space of a 
year, and I received from you an assurance that no 
attempt should be made to hasten the period of our 
union, at least before the end of the next June. I 
had hoped that, on a point of such delicacy, this 
promise would have been strictly observed. I 
need not any longer ask you whether it has or not.’^ 

Sackville was startled by the unexpected tone of 
reproach in which her observation was conveyed. 
‘‘ Excuse me;” said he, if I were asked, I 
should say that I had not broken the promise you 
mention. You appealed to me, as your trustee, 
upon a matter of business. You asked how you 
can most easily obtain the power of assisting your 
parents. I answer, by marrying. It is the simple 
truth, and I could in no respect, have answered 
otherwise, even if I were not tl^e person who is 
destined to become your husband,” 


164 


HERBERT LACY. 


I am not disposed to deny the truth of what 
you say, Mr. Sackville,” replied Agnes, coldly: 

and I might be more obliged to you for the in- 
formation, if it had been required. I knew the 
effect which my marriage would have upon the dis- 
posal of my fortune. I believed you to be perfect- 
ly conscious of my knowing it: and when you 
spoke of other means, I thought you were allud- 
ing to something else, of which I might possibly 
be ignorant. I asked you about the practicable- 
ness of a particular measure, and I have been an- 
swered by a description of the inflexible disposition 
of Mr. Hawksworth. If my request is neither 
impossible or improper, I will not think so ill of 
Mr. Hawksworth as to suppose that he cannot be 
induced to consent to it. At all events, the attempt 
shall be made. I may fail, and I shall then know 
how to think of other resources; but till then, I 
will not allow myself to be driven by a prospect of 
difficulties to take any other step. ” 

Sackville felt rather embarrassed by the firmness 
with which she spoke, and her apparent perception 
of his real designs; but he was too crafty and col- 
lected to allow his discomfiture to be apparent. 

‘‘ I will be guided,’’ said he, mildly, ‘‘ by your 
wishes: but why this displeasure? Suppose me 
even to have done the very worst you tax me 
with, to have urgently and directly pressed our 
immediate marriage, without any other plea than 
my own wishes, would this — should this — have 
been unpardonable ? Should it even have been 
seriously considered an offence ? It would be 
hard to accuse me of so much as a want of delicate 
attention; but never could it be said that I showqd 
inyself deficient in genuine attachment. It is one 
of the common errors of aftection, my dear Agnes, 
to be inattentive. to forms. If is true, I try to 
avoid this error. I know your disposition to 


HERBERT LACY- 


165 


shrink from profession, and, in obedience to this, 
I endeavour to lose the lover in the friend, and to 
act as if I were never destined to be bound to you 
by any dearer ties than those by which I have been 
devoted to your service, through the will of your 
excellent aunt. But you must not suppose that, 
because I betray little, I necessarily feel little j 
and you will I hope excuse me, if the wish of my 
heart does sometimes escape, when any thing ari- 
ses that is likely to promote it.^’ 

f [e regarded her with a look, which was meant 
e that of love and admiration, but from which 
she shrunk with diffidence and dread. ‘‘ Won’t 
you say, that you forgive me, Agnes ?” added he, 
taking her cold but unresisting hand. A look, 
a smile — only a smile — and I shall be satisfied.” 

She did look up, and faintly smiled; but it was 
a smile, beneath which the countenance of Sack- 
ville fell in momentary confusion, and he shrunk 
from the silent language of her eye, for it convey- 
to him the intelligence that she was not deceived, 
and had no faith in his professions of affection. 

But his presence of mind and pliant powers of 
dissiniulation soon enabled him to rally, and he 
was boldly proceeding in the same strain, with 
the hope of convincing her by his perseverance, 
when Agnes at length stopped him. 

I began,” said she, by talking to you on a 
subject of business. Let us return to it. It seems 
that the only obstacle to my request is the difficul- 
ty of obtaining Mr. Hawksworth’s consent. I 
am glad to hear that this is all. I shall spare no 
pains to obtain it, and I trust 1 shall succeed. I 
will write to him immediately, and as you do not 
seem to object to the reasonableness of my request 
I hope it will be also supported by whatever you 
can urge in its favour.” 


166 


HERBERT LACIT. 


Sackville promised his assistance, and pretended 
much eagerness to forward her project. It became 
his object to lull the suspicions of Agnes respect- 
ing his sincerity; and so dexterously did he pur- 
sue it, that, in spite of the unfavourableness of her 
impression, he eventually induced her to think that 
she had previously misconstrued his meaning, and 
been disposed to judge him too severely. 


HERBERT LACY. 


167 


CHAPTER XX. 


Deceit c annot otherwise be maintained than by deceit. 

Sir Philip Sidney. 

It was far from the intention of Sackville, that 
Agnes should succeed in her application to Mr. 
Hawksworth. Viewing her fortune, as that which 
was to become virtually his own, he was naturally 
averse to any expenditure which should check its 
present accumulation. He also dreaded the pre- 
cedent which might be afforded by compliance, 
and the habit which Agnes might acquire of prof- 
fering assistance; and no less did he fear, that Mr. 
Morton might learn to look for it from that source, 
and, with such a prospect of support, relapse into 
his former habits of extravagance. 

He had also fears respecting his engagement 
with Agnes. He knew that she was not attached 
to him, and had been driven into that engagement 
by the entreaties of her father, in order to save him 
from an exposure, which, after all, had not been 
averted. The only way in which her marriage 
could now be advantageous to her father, was by 
giving her an earlier power of assisting him; and 
this prospect, and the promise, were the only ties 
by which Sackville held her. The engagement of 
marriage was such as any disagreement might cause 
her to break. If, therefore, a present power of 
extending relief to her parents were to be given to 
Agnes, it was by no means impossible that pleas 


168 


HERBERT LACY. 


might be found for the postponement of her mar- 
riage with him till the arrival of a fit period for as- 
serting her independence. 

Such were the results which Sackvilie apprehen- 
ded from a compliance with the present request of 
Agnes; and attributing to her, like most artful 
people,, the same manceuvering disposition which 
he felt himself, he half suspected her of having in 
view, not so much the relief of her father, as her 
own eventual release from her engagement. He, 
therefore, resolved to frustrate her application at 
all hazards. 

The character of Sackville’s colleague was very 
favourable to the success of his plans. Mr. Hawks- 
worth was a very honorable man, but weak and con- 
fiding, to a degree that rendered him an easy mark 
for imposition. He was timid and nervous, and 
fearful of acting in cases of emergency; and Sack- 
vilie, when he wished to have entirely his own 
way, could paralyze his operations at pleasure, 
by a skilful display of the difficulties of a case. 
An awful feeling of responsibility weighed like 
lead upon his conscientious mind; and he was 
so beset with scruples, that he scarcely dared to do 
even what he believed to be right. He had a 
great respect for the abilities of Sackvilie, and 
’was led, by his own goodness of heart, to think 
that the probity of his colleague was equal to his 
talents. 

Sackvilie had acccurately noted all the qualifi- 
cations of Mr. Hawksworth for a safe and passive 
coadjutor, and had himself dictated his selection 
to Mrs. Denham. Availing himself too of the re- 
tired habits of Mr. Hawksworth, he had preven- 
ted Agnes and her family from having much ac- 
quaintance with him, and he consequently found 
it not difficult to attribute to him any sentiments 
he pleased. While rendering him a mere puppet, 


HEBBERT LACY. 


169 


entirely subservient to his will, he uniformly re- 
presented him to the Mortons as peculiarly intrac- 
table. The few traits of his character, which 
W’ere allowed to appear, were ingeniously wrested 
for this purpose. His timid scrupulosity was con- 
strued into obstinacy, and a few antiquated notions 
were magnified into insurmountable prejudices. 
Thus it became easy for Sackville to plead the 
opposition of Mr. Hawksworth, as a cause of the 
rejection of any measure that he was himself un- 
willing to adopt. 

Sackville entered with apparent zeal into Agnesis 
project of writing to Mr. Hawksworth, and he pro- 
mised to support her application by a letter from 
himself, which letter she was to see. He brought 
it to her, and after she had read it, and expressed 
her approbation of its contents, it v/as sealed and 
directed in her presence. He then took charge of 
that, and of her letter, promising to send them at 
the same time. This promise was never performed. 
Both letters were suppressed ; and, in the place of 
that which he had shown to Agnes, he sent, on that 
same, day, the following:" ^ 

My dear Sir, 

During the tivo last days, I have had a good deal 
of conversation with our young charge, on the sub- 
ject of her father’s situation, and I am sorry to find, 
that she still entertains the same unfortunate wish, of 
which I before informed you relative to the applica- 
tion of money to his relief, out of the interest of 
her own fortune. There is, however, this differ- 
ence in her present intentions that whereas they 
formerly extended to the wild idea of paying ofi 
Mr. Morton’s debts, they are now confined to the 
more feasible plan of rendering his present situa- 
tion rather more comfortable. 

VoL. II. 15 


170 


HERBERT LACY. 


I need not tell you that, in point of strict jus- 
tice, her present intentions are much less defensible 
than her former ones. Undoubtedly not one farth- 
ing ought to be expended on superfluities, as long 
as any just debts remain unpaid. Agnes very na- 
turally prefers the gratification of her parents, to 
satisfying the demands of their creditors; and when 
one considers her tender and pliant disposition, and 
the influence which her father has over her, one 
surely cannot wonder at it. 

‘‘ But it is our duty, my dear Sir, unpleasant as 
it may be, to prevent her from sacrificing herself 
to an overstrained sense of filial devotion. We must 
not allow her to be preyed upon by the necessities 
of others, however nearly connected, and however 
anxious she may seem to assist them. 

As for the situation of Mr. Morton, if I must 
speak plainly on so delicate a subject, I cannot, I 
confess, see any sufficient call for additional expen- 
diture. He cannot live splendidly, or receive 
much company, or indulge his natural taste for 
show; but he has every thing that is necessary for 
mere comfort, and this ' is all that, under present 
circumstances, he ov^t to require. If he seeks 
for more than this, and wishes to emerge from his 
retirement, and indulge in the pleasures of society, 
which I suspect to be the case, nt>thing less than a 
very considerable addition to his present allowance 
will be in any degree sufficient. 

<‘Nor would the evil end here. One expense 
would lead to another. Demands upon us would 
increase and I fear nothing short of the whole of 
our young ward^s income would eventually satisfy 
them. With such demands we could not comply, 
and an altercation and quarrel would be the most 
probable consequence. I have always observed 
that when successive applications are to be expect- 
ed, it is the safest to resist them in limine. After 


HERBERT LACY. 


171 


the admission of a principle, it is very difficult to 
settle the question of degree, without giving offence. 

I need hardly remind you of the irritability of Mr. 
Morton’s disposition, and the likelihood of offence 
being taken, and very seriously too. 

I rather think you will receive a letter soon 
from Miss Morton, upon the subject mentioned 
above. Should such be the case, and you think 
proper to write in return, it will be an accommo- 
dation to the Mortons if the letter is sent under 
cover to me. But perhaps you will allow me to 
suggest, that it would be better to take no immedi- 
ate notice of the application. It is sometimes dan- 
gerous to communicate, on subjects like these, oth- 
erwise than personally. Letters are liable to be 
misinterpreted. Should you, however, prefer wri- 
ting, the safer way (if you do not object to it) is 
to authorize, me by a letter, which, in case of 
emergency, I could show, to explain your senti- 
ments to them. I have so long had the pleasure 
of acting with you, that I think there is no danger 
of any misconception arising between ourselves. 

‘‘ In your last letter, you gave me hopes of see- 
ing you soon in town. For my own sake I am 
selfish enough to wish it may be so — for yours, I 
• ought to wish that it may not. London, which is 
always hateful to every one who knows the plea- 
sures of the country, is now peculiarly disagreea- 
ble, just at the commencement of its summer tur- 
moil. If the business on which you are coming 
does not absolutely require your own presence, 
and I can be of any use, pray tell me. I am afraid 
this unpleasant affair of the Mortons will tend to 
render your stay less agreeable. I fear you will 
be exposed to much solicitation, and the risk of a 
quarrel; but I will do all in my power to spare you 
as much as possible. I have not yet informed the 
Mortons of your intentions; and I think it will be 


m 


HERBERT LACIT. 


much pleasanter for you, if they have no previous 
knowledge of your arrival, that they may not be 
prepared for the attack. I shall, therefore, say no- 
thing about it, and you of course will not write to 
them. 

With best wishes for your continuance in 
health, believe me, my dear Sir, ever most faith- 
fully yours, 

Edward Sackville. 

P. S. May I beg of you, to burn this letter? 
I am sure I may trust to your not committing me 
with the Mortons, by making any allusion to it 
when you meet them in town. ’’ 

We have seen that the letter written by Agnes 
was suppressed. She waited long for that answer 
which was never to arrive, and at length determi- 
ned to write again. To this course she was insi- 
diously urged by Sackville; and as he affected to en- 
ter zealously into her wishes, he was allowed to see 
what her letter contained. He did not endeavour 
to suppress it, but he wrote to Mr. Hawksworth by 
the same post, availing himself of his knowledge 
of what Agnes had stated, for the purpose of weak- 
ening its impression, and he requested that no im- 
mediate notice might be taken of it. 

In addition to other motives, Sackville had some 
hope that, by tormenting Agnes with these dij0Gi- 
culties and delays, he might at length induce her to 
forsake her project. But he did not calculate suf- 
ficiently upon her firmness of purpose; and was 
unpleasantly surprised, about a week after she had 
sent the second letter, by hearing her propose, as 
a last resource, to go down to Mr. Hawksworth’s 
place, and confer with him in person. Her plan 
seemed to be maturely arranged; her parents did 
not disapprove; her brother would accompany her, 


HERBERT LACY. 173 

and Lord Malvern had offered her a travelling car- 
riage for the purpose. 

Sackville’s varied powers of persuasion and at- 
tack were instantly put into requisition to combat 
this unforeseen and dangerous resolution. At first 
the smile of incredulity was tried, and the tone of 
playful banter; but they were met in the same man- 
ner; and then, at length, he was reminded that her' 
object was too serious to admit of a defeat from the 
arms of ridicule. Graver objections were then 
stated: the singularity of the step, the punctilious 
prejudices of Mr. Hawksworthj the implied reflec- 
tion on him for neglect of attention to her request, 
and the absence of sufficient delay to warrant such 
an extremity. 

The discussion was adjourned to the following 
day, and then Sackville yielded his reluctant ap- 
probation on the plan, after entreating that she 
would defer her journey for a few days; and it was 
at length arranged that, unless she previously re- 
ceived an answer, Agnes should quit London, with 
her brother, on the ensuing Monday. The dis- 
tance from London to Mr. Hawksworth’s place, 
was sufficient to occupy two days; and Sackville 
begged that Agnes would do him the favour to make 
use of his house at Trentford, as a resting place, 
on the first night, both in going and returning. 

This offer had been accepted by her father in 
her behalf, even before she had heard it herself ; 
and she did not like to make an ungracious return 
to Sackville’s courtesy by non-compliance. 


15 =^ 


174 


HERBERT LACT. 


CHAPTER XXL 


Can such things be. 

And overcome us, like a summer cloud. 

Without our special wonder? 

Macheth. 

The appointed day arrived, and Agnes and lier 
brother quitted London. Late in the evening, they 
reached Trentford, which they found had, in pur- 
suance of the attentive directions of Sackville, 
been carefully prepared for their reception. They 
left it again on the following morning, and about 
the close of that day; Agnes witli a beating heart, 
found herself approaching the venerable mansion 
of Mr. Hawksworth. She felt that an important 
moment was almost present, that, uncertain of the 
issue, she was about to throw herself upon the 
compassion of one, with whom, strong as was his 
influence over her, she had but little personal ac- 
quaintance, and to encounter prejudices, which, as 
she had been told, would seldom yield, even to the 
persuasive powers of Sackville. She remembered 
the arguments by which he had sought to oppose 
her resolution, and almost bewailed her rashness, 
in having so hastily overruled them. 

The shades of evening were closing in, and as 
she drove up to the door of the mansion, its me- 
lancholy and deserted air filled her, she knew not 
why, with ominous forebodings. The shutters 
were all closed, though it might still be called day- 


HERBERT LACY. 


175 ' 


light; no living being was to be seen or heard, and 
they waited in long suspence, after repeated ring- 
ing and knocking, before any notice seemed to be 
taken of their arrival. At length the creaking and 
rattling of bars, bolts, and locks were heard with- 
in. The time which these preparations occupied, 
shewed very plainly the excessive care with which 
the entrance had been guarded, a care which, to 
the mind of Agnes, seenied unpleasantly charac- 
teristic of what she considered the morose, suspi- 
cious temper of the owner. 

The door, at last, was cautiously opened, and 
the trusty guardian of this well-barred portal, ap- 
peared in the person of an old woman. The mo- 
tive for these precautions, and the tardy compli- 
ance with the summons, were explained by her 
answer to the first question: and Agnes heard, 
with surprise, that Mr. Hawksworth had set out 
for London on the preceding morning. 

Much as Agnes had dreaded the expected in- 
terview a few moments before, she felt consider- 
able disappointment. The object of a long jour- 
ney was completely frustrated; and she had incur- 
red some anxiety, which she might otherwise have 
been spared: and though the meeting might perhaps 
take place under pleasanter auspices in London, 
this was but a slight consolation. It seemed sin- 
gular to her that such a mistake should have occur- 
red, and that not even Sackville was previously 
informed of Mr. Hawksworth’s intentions; but she 
had been taught to view the latter as an eccentric 
man, and this accounted for all that was strange 
and unforeseen. 

Fortunately for Sackville, she entertained no 
suspicion of the vile artifice, which he had employ- 
ed. Previous to her quitting London, Sackville 
had been informed, by letter, of the percise day 
on which Mr. Hawksworth would set out on his 
journey. His opposition to the plan proposed by 


176 


HERBERT LACY. 


Agnes was then softened, and he only entreated 
her to await the expected answer till a slated day, 
naming that which he knew would exactly cause 
her to miss the person whom she went to see. 
He believed his treachery to be safe from' discove- 
ry, and he was urged^ to it by a sense of the im- 
portance of securing a first interview with Mr. 
Hawksworth, and not allowing him to be exposed 
to the fascinating persuasions of his young ward 
till he had been steeled and tutored by a sufficient 
store of cogent reasons. 

Agnes felt some reluctance in remaining that 
night at Mr. Hawksworth’s, an uninvited guest, in 
the absence of the owner; but the old portress, who, 
as she soon informed her, bore the dignity of 
housekeeper of the mansion, urged her to stay. 
The engaging countenance and manners of Agnes 
won her heart at first sight; and the knowledge of 
her being the rich young lady to whom her master 
was guardian, together with the opportunity of dis- 
playing the great extent of her discretionary pow- 
er, quite counterbalanced all the additional trouble 
which the invitation would cost her. 

The mansion was old and sombre, full within of 
dark oak pannels, and rambling passages, and pos- 
sessed the honours of a haunted room. But the 
nerves of Agnes were not, by that fatality which 
always attended the heroines of the Radcliffe school, 
exposed to a trial of its terrors; and her brother, 
though he professed that he should like the fun, 
was not permitted by the considerate housekeeper 
to rue the consequences of his presumption. No 
adventure offered itself; and the next morning un- 
der the cheerful auspices of a bright April sun, 
they set out from JVIr. Hawksworth’s, and arrived 
again that night at Trentford. 

1 his return was not expected so soon, and seem- 
ed to give little satisfaction to one of the servants, 
a man who liad lived several years with Mr. Sack- 


HERBERT LACY. 


177 


ville, and in whom he always seemed to place ra- 
ther more confidence than in the others. 

Agnes found here a letter from Sackville. It 
informed her, of his having that instant discover- 
ed that Mr. Hawksworth would not be at his own 
house when she arrived there; expressed the ut- 
most grief for the unnecessary trouble she was ex- 
posed to, and trusted that his letter might still be 
in time to save her from performing more than 
half of her intended journey. This he knew 
would not be the case, nor did he mean that it 
should. He wrote solely with the intention of re- 
moving any suspicion of treachery on his part, that 
might possibly have arisen in the mind of Agnes. 
We have mentioned, that her pure and candid 
mind had not admitted the idea of any such extent 
of villainous deceit. The letter, therefore, opera- 
ted no change in her impressions, but merely con- 
firmed her unsuspiciousness. 

There are states of the mind, in which we are 
peculiarly disposed to conjure up the most gloomy 
and dispirited views of our past and present situa- 
tion. This was now the case with Agnes: the fa- 
tigue of three successive days of travelling, had 
perhaps tended, in no slight degree, to relax the 
usual elasticity of her spirits. But there was am- 
ple cause for gloom and despondency, even in the 
most plain and dispassionate view of the events 
which had happened, and were still likely to ensue. 
Bitterly did she regret what she now considered the 
too easy surrender of her affections to Lacy. It 
was true, he had almost explicitly declared his at- 
tachment; and there was something in his manner, 
at their last meeting, which indicated that he still 
felt it. 

But how was this to be reconciled with his avow-» 
ed engagement to Miss Hartley ? That was a 
practical contradiction, before which the weight 
of his half-uttered protestations sunk into compara- 


178 


HERBERT LACY. 


tive insignificance. She knew nothing of the cir- 
cumstances which had led to that engagement; but 
she knew that it had been talked of before her 
acquaintance with Lacy began. Miss Hartley was 
probably the first and rightful possesser of his 
heart, and she herself was but reaping the punish- 
ment of an act of forgetful aggression. 

Cruel, indeed, had been her lot. On her seemed 
to have descended the terrible denunciation of 
scripture; she had been “ cursed even in her bles- 
sings. ’’ Her parents, from whom she should seek 
for comfort and protection, had been the cause of 
deep affliction: the innocent admission of a first 
attachment had been turned to poison; and her 
wealth had subjected, her to a thraldom, of which 
a type may be found in the tyranny of Mezentius, 
who chained together the living and the dead. 

Would that my lot had been more humble!’^ 
she exclaimed, almost aloud in the solitude of her 
own apartment. ‘‘ Oh, that I had not possessed 
this fatal wealth but for which, he to whom I am 
now plighted never would have sought me!’^ She 
wished at length to dismiss these thoughts and seek 
forgetfulness and repose; but in vain. The fever 
of her mind prevented her from sleeping, and she 
arose and looked out at the cold moonlight scene, 
which the view from the window afforded. 

It was a bright, clear night. Only a few fleecy 
clouds floated in the sky, and from among them, 
the stars glimmered faintly, almost extinguished 
by the splendour of the moon, now high in the 
heavens, and near the full. Its white, cold, wa- 
tery beams, that were shed over the landscape, de- 
prived every object, however plainly visible, of its 
daylight tint, and gave to the whole the appearance 
of being slightly overspread with snow. The ad- 
joining lake, one of the chief ornaments of the 
place, and the expanse of sky; objects that in the 
diy were lightest, were now enveloped in the deep- 


HERBERT LACr. 


179 

est gloom. All the solemnity of night seemed to 
be concentrated in them, and the rest was unna- 
turally brightened. 

Though the forms remained the same, so great 
was the difference of hue, that Agnes could scarce- 
ly recognize the scene on which she had gazed be- 
fore. All was still: noteven the feathery summits 
of the loftiest trees could be seen to move, nor did 
the gentlest rustle meet the ear. If solitude is 
ever terrible, it is chiefly when accompanied with 
silence; and Agnes could scarcely avoid feeling in 
some degree appalled by its present solemnity. 
She was not more accessible to feelings of super- 
stitious dread, than the boldest of her sex may 
sometimes be; yet she felt, she knew not why, an 
ominous chill of fear, and longed for an indication, 
however slight that some living thing was still 
waking as well as herself. The scream of the owl, 
or even the tick of the death-watch would have 
been almost music to her ear at that awful moment. 

She listened; and at length a sound was heard, 
though so indistinctly, that at first she thought her- 
self deceived. It seemed to come from below, 
but she hardly knew whether from within or out 
of the house. Once she plainly distinguished some- 
thing like the creaking of a bar, and afterwards it 
seemed as if the sash of a window was gently 
raised. Then all was still as death; then a slight 
rustling sound was heard, and afterwards a repe- 
tition of the former, as if the window was being 
closed again; and then once more all was still. A 
terrible thought flashed across the mind of Agnes at 
this moment; that robbers were entering the house, 
and had probably, ere this effected their purpose. 
She stood for a few minutes, in a state of breathless 
alarm, screening herself from view, behind a cor- 
ner of the window, listening intently, and strain- 
ing her eyes to penetrate the shadowy recesses of 
the shrubbery below. 


180 


HERBP.ht PAcr. 


She had not looked long when she thought she 
saw something move, but was not certain, and ima- 
gined for an instant that fear might have made her 
senses deceitful. But it was not so; again she 
saw it, but knew not what the object was. She 
drew still farther back, and watched with a more 
intent anxiety. Presently, a figure, scarcely dis- 
tinguishable from the surrounding objects but by 
the shadow which it cast, was seen to emerge from 
the bushes, and move gently from the house. It 
was a man of rather low stature, whose stealthy, 
cautious tread, showed that he wished to avoid ob- 
servation. He looked frequently from side to side, 
and once, screening himself behind an evergreen, 
he turned round, and seemed to reconnoitre the 
windows ; and, as far as she could judge by the di- 
rection of his head, he was particularly observing 
her’s. She could not distinguish his features, 
which appeared to be concealed by crape. In an 
instant, he had turned away his head, moved on- 
wards, and in a few seconds was out of sight. 

Agnes remained long pondering in astonishment 
and dread on this singular apparition. One thing 
seemed evident to her, that this person, be he who 
he might, had clandestinely quitted the house; but 
whether he were one of the household, or a thief 
that had gained secret entrance, was more than she 
could decide. The more she thought, the more she 
inclined to the former opinion : she believed she 
had heard the window closed and fastened again, 
and this could only have been done by some assis- 
tant within. 

This was a less terrifying impression, and she 
was glad to adopt it. She debated with herself for 
a while, whether she should alarm the household ! 
immediately, or wait till the morning; and irreso- I 
lution and fear so far triumphed as to induce her, i 
perhaps erroneously, to pursue the less prompt j 
course, and defer her communication. She was 


HERBERT LACY. 


181 


fatigued in myid and body; and, in spite of the 
alarm, caused by what she had witnessed, sleep at 
length surprised her, and the morning came before 
she next awoke. 

At first, her recollection of the past circumstance 
was by no means clear, and she almost doubted 
whether the whole was not a dream. But by de- 
grees the obscurity vanished, and the scene return- 
ed so vividly to her mind, when she stood at the 
spot from which she had seen the figure, and traced 
the course it had taken; and so many concomitant 
facts now rose to her remembrance, that she soon 
dismissed every particle of doubt, and gave imme- 
diate information of all that she had witnessed. 

The intelligence was received with many de- 
monstrations of surprise and dismay, and in some 
with a slight appearance of incredulity. The per- 
son which Agnes had seen was strictly affirmed not 
to be any of the household; and, indeed, she did 
not think that his figure bore any resemblance, 
though her judgment on this point must necessarily 
have been imperfect. On the other hand, if it 
was a robber (as was remarked by the confidential 
servant above alluded to,) and he had entered the 
house, he must have taken something away, and it 
was their first object to ascertain if any locks had 
been broken open, or if any thing was missing. — 
A careful search was instantly commenced, which 
ended in their coming to the conclusion that every 
thing appeared to remain precisely as it was the 
day before. 

During this search, on the part of the household, 
Agnes recommended to her brother to look for the 
traces of feet in those parts of the shrubbery, 
where, according to the best of her recollection, 
the figure had appeared, and particularly under the 
window, which she had heard opened and shut. 
He did look, and found nothing. Agnes was sur- 

VoL. II. 16 


183 


HERBERT LACY. 


prised, nay, almost inclined to waver in her belief 
as to the reality of what she had seen. A weaker 
mind might have been led to think that the figure 
was an unearthly visitant. In fact, the absence of 
traces might be accounted for by the circumstances 
of their having been a frost in the night, though it 
had begun to thaw towards daybreak. 

Her brother, however, who had all along been 
rather incredulous, now lost all faith in the correct- 
ness of her story, upon finding it so utterly unsup- 
ported by any other circumstance. He believed it 
to be the result of a feverish imagination, or a 
dream, the impression of which had been so vivid 
as to seem like truth; and he laboured to persuade 
his sister, that if she had really seen what she de- 
scribed, she would have immediately given the 
alarm, instead of going quietly to sleep, and such 
is the imperfection of our senses, and our want of 
reliance on them, that Agnes was almost disposed 
to subscribe to his opinion. 

One slight circumstance only, which appeared 
upon re-examination of the room the window of 
which was supposed to have been opened, tended 
to confirm her previous impressions; it was nothing 
more than a drop of oil upon the floor, near one of 
the windows. A closer examination showed that 
oil had been applied to the hinges of the shutters, 
and various parts of this window, and it was easy 
to conceive that it was done with a view of lesson- 
ing the noise of opening and closing. There were 
two other windows in the room, neither of which 
bore the same appearance. The room was one 
which Sackville used as a sitting-room, and in 
which he generally transacted business. It was 
the room in which he showed to Allen his forgery, 
and the documents which confirmed it. There 
were in it a large library-table furnished with 
drawers, and a bureau, all locked, and believed to 
contain papers and articles of value. 


HERBERT LACY. 


183 


Agnes was anxious to return to London, and 
quitted Trentford that morning without any addi- 
tional circumstances having transpired which tend- 
ed to throw a light upon this mysterious affair. — 
While changing horses at the solitary inn of a small 
town, about fifty miles from Trentford, a person 
came up to the carriage, and taking off his hat civilly 
inquired whether he was not speaking to Miss Mor- 
ton, and informed her that his name was Allen. The 
information was needless, as she knew him by sight. 
His object in addressing her appeared to be no other 
than to make inquiries after Mr. Morton, who, he 
said, he was sorry to hear had been very unwell. 
Agnes assured him that the report he had received 
must have been exaggerated ; and, after another 
observation or two, he again bowed and walked 
away. 

This was the only face she knew that met her 
eye in her way to London; and, without any inci- 
dent of the slightest moment, she again returned 
to the humble and melancholy dwelling of her pa^ 
rents. 


184 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Flat burglary as ever was committed. 

Much ado about JVbthing, 

On the following day, at an early hour, Sack- 
ville presented himself to the Mortons. To Ag- 
nes he was full of condolence and regret upon the 
fruitlessness of her journey, and the arrival of his 
own letter too late to be of use. Agnes, in return, 
had much to say to him, and among other things, 
related all that had passed at Trentford. 

Sackville heard her tale, at first, merely as an 
amusing incident, and seemed prepared to treat it 
lightly; but, as she proceeded, his attention became 
more deeply fixed. He looked grave, and at length, 
changed colour, and ended with declaring that he 
entertained little doubt of his having been robbed. 
He even begged her to recapitulate all the circum- 
stances, and in the presence of her father commit- 
ted the whole to paper. His manner showed that 
the facts she mentioned appeared to him of the most 
serious import; and such was his eagerness to sa- 
tisfy his doubts that he •set out immediately from 
London, and arrived at Trentford that night. 

It was very late when he reached it, but before 
he slept he commenced his examination. He be- 
gan with his own sitting-room, out of which the 
person was supposed to have escaped. All that 
had been locked remained so still, and therefore 
the theft, if such there were, must have been com- 


HERBERT LACY. 


185 


mitted by means of false keys. He knew that 
there was much to lose, and his hand trembled 
with anxiety as he turned the first lock. His anx- 
ious eye soon fell upon some money, which he re- 
membered to have left in the drawer which he 
first opened: he counted it, and it was still the same: 
he then looked for other valuables, and he found 
them all untouched. He directed his attention in 
turn to every object that could be supposed to ex- 
cite the cupidity of a robber, but all remained 
where he had left them; and, after a long and anx- 
ious search, he closed his eyes that night, without 
having been able to discover that he had suffered 
the slightest loss. 

He arose next morning, well pleased with the 
result of his investigation, and only vexed at having 
been rendered uneasy, and led to undertake a jour- 
ney by an idle tale, perhaps the fabrication of a fe- 
verish fancy, and which had been proved to end 
in nothing. He was^ however, struck by the sin- 
gular retribution which caused him to receive at the 
hands of Agnes the punishment of an anxious and 
unnecessary journey, in return for that to which 
he had exposed her. After all, was it a hoax ? 
Was it done for the sake of tormenting him, or of 
getting him out of the way during their first in- 
terview with Mr. Hawksworth ? 

This was a very improbable course for Agnes 
to adopt; but, in conformity with the proneness of 
artful people to suspect others, strange and unwor- 
thy as the idea was, Sackville, for a moment, en- 
tertained it. He determined, however, before he 
went away to investigate a little farther, and. again 
opened the bureau which stood in his own sitting- 
room. Suddenly a fearful thought flashed across 
his mind : he knew not why it occurred at that mo- 
ment, or why it had never struck him before; but 
it made his countenance turn alternately red and 
16 ^ 


186 


HERBERT LACY. 


pale with agitation. A search was then commen- 
ced among his papers, and was continued for se- 
veral minutes. Exclamations of apprehension and 
trouble frequently escaped him, till at length there 
was a dead pause, and he sat for some time mo- 
tionless. It seemed as if his worst fears were re- 
alised; and, after the stupor of surprise his feelings 
burst forth into passionate exclamations of mingled 
anger and despair. 

The instrument of his control over Allen, the 
forged paper, with its accompanying documents, 
could no longer be found. Every thing else ap- 
peared to remain precisely in its former place.-^ 
Nothing was even disarranged; and but for the in- 
timation which he haid received from Agnes, 
months, years, might have elapsed before he had 
become sensible of his loss. The removal of these 
important papers could, of course, be attributed to 
no other person than Allen; but it was difficult to 
believe that he had committed so daring a crime 
without the assistance of some person belonging to 
the house. The probability of domestic treachery 
tended to embitter the loss to Sackville, more espe- 
cially as his suspicions fell upon the servant in whom 
he had hitherto reposed most confidence. 

Another aggravating recollection arose to his 
mind. It was, that he himself was in some degree 
the casue of that which had happened. If he had 
• not complied with Allen’s request to be allowed to 
see the forged paper, that person would never 
have known where it might be found. How incau- 
tious had he been to restore the paper in Allen’s 
presence to its former place, and to allow it to re- 
main there ! But he had never contemplated the 
probability of such a bold extent of villany. 

“I was a fool,” he bitterly exclaimed, ^^to 
tamper with crime, and not to be prepared for the 
worst that might ensue; to admit a felon to my 


HERBERT LACY. 


187 


confidence, and trust to his forbearance. I knew 
that the man was crafty and unscrupulous, but I 
undervalued his resolution.’’ He then remember- 
ed how on the occasion of showing the paper, he 
vainly flattered himself to have obtained a signal 
triumph over the poor trembling tool of his villa- 
nies; but now the crafty wretch had triumphed in 
his turn, and the able and artful Sackville seemed 
to shrink to a humble tyro, in cunning and audaci- 
ty, compared with the mean and half-educated man 
whom he had once moulded to his will. He felt 
degraded in his own eyes by having been thus 
outwitted, and vowed revenge on his insidious ag- 
gressor. 

But this revenge was not easily to be obtained* 
There were many difficulties in the way of legal 
redress. He was fully persuaded that the lost pa- 
pers could have been taken by no other than Allen, 
but his presumptive evidence was not of that kind 
which would be satisfactory in a court of justice, 
^o pecuniary value could be assigned to the pa- 
pers, nor would it even be possible to prove that 
such had ever existed. Allen, if brought to trial, 
would probably defend himself by denying all 
knowledge of them, and declaring the whole to be a 
malicious fiction; and Sackville knew not how he 
should reply. He might lay open a full account 
of the whole of the transaction which had passed 
between them ; but how disgraceful would that ex- 
posure be to himself! He should even be obliged 
to confess himself guilty of a misprision of felony, 
and his character would be irrevocably blasted. 
He should be obliged to declare upon a trial that 
no money or other valuable property had been 
touched, not even that which had been deposited 
in the same place with the lost papers; and this 
circumstance would throw over the proceedings a 
suspicion, which would be almost fatal to his cause. 


1S8 


HERBERT LACY. 


Such were the difficulties which would present 
themselves even in the case of his having a reason- 
able probability of being able to attach the act of 
burglary to Allen. But this was found to be far 
from an easy task; and the exertions which Sack- 
ville made to trace his progress on the day prece- 
ding and following the robbery, were utterly un- 
successful. He recollected having heard from 
Agnes, in the course of conversation, that she saw 
him on the following day at a place fifty miles 
from Trentford, and though the alibi’^ was not 
conclusive, it was strongly in Allen’s favour. 
Sackville made diligent inquiries at this place re- 
specting Allen but could gain no information, except 
from one person who had rather a. confused recol- 
lection of a man, corresponding to the description, 
having come to the inn on foot. 

Sackville, therefore, dismissed all hope of bring- 
ing the delinquent to justice; and his revengeful 
feelings were compelled to satisfy themselves with 
the prospect of secretly blasting the character ol^ 
the man on whom he could no longer calculate as 
a submissive tool, and whom he could not, with 
safety, openly attack. 

Little doubt will probably be entertained by our 
readers of the guilt of Allen; but they may, never- 
theless, think it more satisfactory to be presented 
with an explicit statement of the truth. The per- 
son whom Agnes saw was Allen. Ever since his 
discovery of the situation in which the forged pa- 
per was kept, he had resolutely determined to de- 
stroy it. The atrocious project of burning down 
the whole house once occurred to his guilty mind; 
but it was abandoned for the safer plan which he 
afterwards carried into execution. His first step 
was to obtain, by means of a considerable bribe 
the assistance of that servant, to whom we have 
betore alluded, as one in whom Sackville reposed 


HERBERT LACY. 


189 


peculiar confidence. This man, as the event show- 
ed, was utterly unworthy of that confidence: but 
it is the common fate of rich and powerful villainy 
to fall a victim to the humble instruments by whose 
aid it seeks to advance itself. 

From this servant Allen obtained impressions 
in wax of Sackville’s keys, and procured false 
keys to be made. Next, it was necessary that Al- 
len should be clandestinely admitted, this servant 
being the only person intrusted with the secret. — 
The time had been settled without any expectation 
of Agnes and her brother being then at Trentford, 
and after their unforeseen return there was no op- 
portunity for further concert. At midnight Allen 
was introduced into the house, unlocked the bureau, 
and after a long and careful search, found, and car- 
ried oflf, his own forgery and the attesting docu- 
ments. 

Every precaution had been taken to ensure his 
silent and secret escape. The situation of the room 
occupied by Agnes was, however, unfavourable, 
and in fixing his eyes upon the window, he faintly 
perceived her figure receding from it, as if she had 
observed him. This caused in him no slight alarm, 
for he foresaw all the consequences to which her 
observation might lead, and even dreaded an im- 
mediate pursuit. But fertile in resources, he re-, 
solved to turn this apparent danger into an advan- 
tage, and knowing the direction in which she would 
travel, he rode all night till he had reached a con- 
siderable distance from Trentford, and leaving his 
horse a few miles from the place where he after- 
wards accosted her, walked thither, and awaited 
her coming. 

Thus providing for the worst that could ensue, 
an eventual trial, he should be able to convert the 
principal witness against him into the most effectual 
means of his defence. 


190 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


A wise man endeavours, by considering all circumstances, to 
make conjectures and form conclusions: but the smallest acci- 
dent intervening (and in the course of affairs it is impossible to 
foresee all) does often produce such turns and changes, that at 
last he is just as much in doubt of events as the most ignorant and 
inexperienced person. 

Swift. 

Sackville, on his way back to London, anxi- 
ously reflected on the policy which it was advisa- 
ble to adopt in speaking .to the Mortons of his lossj 
and as he could not describe the nature of it, he 
thought it was better to treat it lightly. He, 
therefore, told them that the only things missing 
were a few papers, which he himself had probably 
mislaid, but that nothing was gone that any thief was 
likely to take. He seemed perfectly unruffled; and 
smiled when he spoke of the supposed robber, as 
if he doubted whether the senses of Agnes had 
not deceived her, though politeness withheld him 
from plainly expressing that opinion. 

Much as he longed to take his meditated re- 
venge, by secret accusations of Allen, he felt that 
prudence dictated forbearance; and that it was ne- 
cessary to disentangle himself from all connection 
with the instrument of his villainies, or place him- 
self beyond the reach of his retaliation, before he 
attempted to crush him. 

Independent of the serious discovery which Sack- 
ville had made at Trentford, he found much cause 
to regret his absence from London. Three days 


HERBERT LACY. 


191 


llad materially altered the aspect of affairs between 
the Mortons and Mr. Hawksworth, and brought 
Ihem to a state of mutual good understanding, very 
detrimental to the views of Sackville, and which, 
had he been in town, he would have laboured to 
prevent. As Sackville’s evil stars would have it, 
Mr. Morton, wishing, very naturally, to show all 
possible attention to the guardian of his daughter, 
had called upon Mr. Hawksworth, and invited 
him to dine with them that same day. The. en- 
tertainment to be sure was such as Mr. Morton 
would once have shuddered at the bare thought of 
either giving or receiving; but Mr. Hawksworth, 
as his invitor expected, was not fastidious upon 
these points. 

The result of that evening was, the removal of 
many erroneous impressions from the minds of each 
party. Mr Hawksworth found, in Mr. Morton, 
a very gentlemanly man, of mild and engaging 
manners; and he was delighted with Agnes, and 
perfectly well pleased with the languid good hu- 
mour of Lady Louisa. 

The Mortons, on their part, found Mr. Hawks- 
worth by no means the strange, bigotted, .intracta- 
ble person which he had been represented to them. 
He seemed a shy, quiet, good-natured, elderly man, 
full of old-fashioned ceremonious politeness, and 
rather slow in his ideas, and elaborate in his phrar 
seology; naturally nervous, strongly impressed, 
through the timidity of his character, with a fear 
of committing himself, or of giving offence, but, at 
the same time, candid and benevolent. 

Mr. Hawksworth did not find himself assailed by 
those solicitations which Sackville had caused him 
to dread. The ill-timed journey undertaken by 
Agnes, was necessarily mentioned; but during the 
whole of the first day, no allusion was made to the 
object of it, and it was not till he himself called 


192 


HERBERT LACY* 


upon the Mortons the following morning, that 
Agnes, who requested a short and private confer- 
ence, then introduced her application. To the 
surprise of Agnes, she then found that Mr. Hawks- 
worth was by no means so rigid and inflexible in 
his notions as she was prepared to expect. He did 
not seem very unfavourable to her request, nor had 
much to urge in opposition to it. He seemed only 
timid in the execution of his ofiice; talked much of 
his responsibility, and the necessity of mature con- 
sideration, long pompous words, which he often 
repeated; and was evidently afraid of doing any 
thing without the entire concurrence of Sackville. 
Nevertheless, urged by a sincere desire to gratify, 
as far as was consistent with his duty, the wishes 
of Agnes, he at length declared, that if not oppo- 
sed by the opinion of his colleague, he should be 
happy, for his own part, to accede to her request. 

He was not a little surprised to learn, that Sack- 
ville had delivered precisely the same sentiments; 
and he could hardly reconcile the circumstance 
with a perfect fairness of proceeding. However, 
this assurance, coming as it did from the lips of 
Agnes, quite disarmed Mr. Hawksworth of all his 
intended severity of opposition; and Sackville, on 
his arrival, found, to his dismay, that the negotia- 
tion was in such a train that there remained but 
little hope of frustrating its fulfilment. He came 
to this conclusion, after two separate conversations 
with Agnes and with Mr. Hawksworth, in which 
he was obliged to exercise his ingenuity in qualify- 
ing and unsaying a good deal that he had said be- 
fore. 

Having once resolved to permit the request of 
Agnes to be granted he took care to appropriate 
the greatest share of credit to himself, and to ap- 
pear to lead rather than to follow; and he entered 
with such apparent zeal into the furtherance of her 


HERBERT EACY. 


193 


wishes and seemed so sincerely happy in the pros- 
pect of their fulfilment, that Agnes felt, for a mo- 
ment, as if she could almost learn to love him. 

“ And now that we have gained our point, 
said he, to Agnes, with his most engaging smile, 

there is a project which I mean to propose 
to your father and Lady Louisa, and which I think 
will be for their benefit, and comfort, and which I 
hope they will approve of. No, no,’^ he added, 
seeing her blush, and look alarmed, ‘‘it is not the 
object which I have most at heart; it is calculated 
for their good rather than for ours — or mine, I 
believe I ought to say.” 

This project was that the Mortons should make 
use of the money to be advanced to them out of 
the accumulated interest of their daughter’s fortune 
for the last three years, for the purpose of enabling 
them to go abroad. Sackville urged this measure 
with all the force of his persuasive eloquence; 
and he painted so well its numerous advantages 
and pleasures, the benefit to be expected to their 
health and spirits, and the easy rate at which com- 
parative luxuries might be obtained in foreign 
countries, that it was soon unanimously voted; and 
it was finally decided, that it should be carried into 
execution, if possible, in the course of a month. 
Sackville would fain have induced them to name 
an earlier time; but Lady Louisa had an insupera- 
ble objection to crossing the sea before the spring 
gales had quite subsided, and could not have made 
up her mind to so serious a step with less time for 
preparation. 

We have seen that the plans of Sackville have 
undergone a sudden change, and it will be neces- 
sary to detail the motives by which he was actua- 
ted. One of them was his jealousy of Lacy, and 
his consequent wish to remove Agnes from the 
possibility of meeting him. He feared, with rea- 

VoL. II. 17 


194 


HERBERT LACY. 


son, that her attachment for him was not quite ex- 
tinct, and was made uneasy even by the slight cir- 
cumstance of her having dined in his company at 
the Bagshawes. He also felt that he had lost his 
former hold upon Allen, and could not stifle an in- 
distinct apprehension, that some of his nefarious 
transactions with that person might, by some means 
or other, come to the knowledge of the Mortons. 
But if he could once carry the Mortons abroad, this 
danger would almost cease. 

Such were some of the considerations which led 
to his sudden proposal of a removal to the Conti- 
nent. 


HERBERT LACY. 


195 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Their great guilt, 

Like poison given to work a great time after, 

Now *gins to bite the spirits. 

Tempest. 

It was not without reason that Sackville reflect- 
ed with dismay on the cessation of his former 
means of influence over Allen. It could not be 
doubted that a person who had adopted such vigo- 
rous measures to effect his independence, would 
avail himself of it to the utmost; and even if Sack- 
ville could have any hopos of ©mploying his offices 
for the future, it must be by dint of bribery, rather 
than of compulsion. Besides, he knew that the tables 
were turned, and that instead of Allen being in his 
power, he himself was now in Allen’s. He knew 
that the latter had in his possession, letters and papers 
relative to some of their late infamous transactions; 
and it was not impossible that cupidity or revenge 
might lead him at some time or other, to make art 
unfriendly use of them. It was, therefore, of the 
first importance to Sackville, to get them out of 
Allen’s hands. 

It was known to Sackville that Allen was to 
come up to town shortly, for the purpose of being- 
examined before a committee upon a projected rail- 
way. He accordingly wrote to him, employing 
the most gracious and friendly terms, wishing sue- 


196 


HERBERT LACY, 


cess to the business in behalf of which he was en- 
gaged, proffered his own good offices, and then 
concluded a letter of more specious profession than 
he generally thought necessary to use towards his 
inferiors, by requesting that Allen would bring to 
London, and deliver to him, certain letters and pa- 
pers, which he then specified. In a few days, he 
received an answer from Allen, stating, that if the 
above-mentioned letters and papers could be found, 
they should be brought. 

Allen at length arrived in London, and Sack- 
ville sent to him to request a conference. He 
obeyed the summons, and the confederates once 
more met. There was no change in Allen's man- 
ner. It was civil and submissive as before. Sack- 
ville also tried to behave the same as usual; but, in 
spite of himself, an inward sense of insecurity in- 
duced him to soften his former tone of command, 
and blend with it more of courtesy and persua- 
sion. 

Well, my good friend," said he to Allen, 
after talking for a while on subjects of minor im- 
portance, I know you are a man of your word, 
and therefore, I need hardly ask whether you 
have brought those letters which I wrote to you 
about." 

I have. Sir," replied Allen, drily. 

Quite right — many thanks to you; and you 
have got them here ?" pursued Sackville, endeav- 
ouring to repress all appearance of the eagerness 
which he really felt. 

No, Sir," returned the other, in the same 
quiet tone. I have not brought them with me 
now, " 

Indeed! well — it does not much signify. You 
can bring them to me to-morrow." 

Allen returned no immediate answer, but cast 


HERBERT LACY. 


197 


his eyes on the ground, with an air of mystery and 
reluctance. 

Where is the difficulty?^’ said Sackville, with 
impatience. 

Difficulty? — Oh, none, I hope, Sir ; I dare 
say we shall soon come to a proper arrangement;” 
then, after another pause, he added drily, A 
man. Sir, must live.” 

Is that a new discovery of yours?” replied 
Sackville, with a laugh. “ The observation is 
true enough ; but I don’t exactly see the drift of it. 
Pray what does it mean?” 

It means just this. Sir; that I have exposed my- 
self to a good deal of risk and inconvenience on 
your account, in all these affairs, not to mention 
the trouble, which was no trifle; and I hope. Sir, 
that if I am to give you up the letters and papers 
that you wrote about, you will not object, in re- 
turn, to make me a handsome consideration.” 

‘‘ What do you call a handsome considera- 
tion ?” 

Oh, Sir,” replied Allen: with affected mode- 
ration, “ I don’t presume to dictate to you: I leave 
it to your generosity.” 

^‘My generosity declines answering. I must in- 
sist upon your telling me what you expect.” 

Allen hesitated, and turned away for a moment, 
as if in the act of calculating. I am sorry. Sir,” 
said he, after a short period of silence, that you 
will force me to name the terms myself, for I don’t 
like to seem encroaching and exorbitant; but, if 
I must speak, I will tell you at once, honestly and 
plainly, that I think, the least I ought to take, is 
five thousand pounds.” 

Sackville received this announcement with a min- 
gled expression of astonishment and rage, and his 


19S 


HERBERT LACY* 


colour rose as he indignantly surveyed the associate 
of his villainies. 

Excellent!’^ he replied: ‘Hhis almost exceeds 
belief. And do you pretend to say, that unless I 
comply with this modest request, you shall with- 
hold the papers I asked for 

I certainly shall,’’ replied Allen firmly. 

Very well,” pursued the other, ‘^then I shall 
know what course to take. Hark you. Sir, when 
I asked you to name your demand, it was without 
the slightest intention of complying with it, even 
had the sum been trifling compared with that 
which you have mentioned. You have no right 
to make any stipulation; and I shall steadily resist 
such an aggression. 

‘‘lam sorry for it, for the sake of both of us,” 
replied Allen, coolly. 

There was a threat implied in this speech, which 
stung Sackville to the quick; and his rage at being 
thus rebelled against by the hitherto submissive 
instrument of his will, was almost too great for 
concealment. But prudence warned him that he 
had a difficult part to play, and he paused for re- 
flection, before he ventured to reply. 

“ Allen,” he answered, fixing upon him a pene- 
trating glance of scrutiny, “ this language is new. 
You seem to have forgotten, all at once, the tre- 
mendous punishment which hangs over you, and 
which my hand can let fall. You now talk as if 
you were at liberty to stipulate, upon more than 
equal terms, and. as if my power had ceased; and I 
ask you. Sir, the reason of this change;” and Sack- 
ville, as he uttered this ensnaring question, again 
fixed his eyes upon Allen, as if he would read his 
yery thoughts. 

Allen bore this terrible scrutiny with a compo- 


HERBERT LACY. 


199 


sure that surprised his querist. He was perfectly 
unabashed, and seemed even indifferent. He was 
amply endowed with that presence of mind, and 
command of countenance, which serve to consti- 
tute what may be called civil courage. Perhaps 
he would not, with such firmness, have met the eye 
of an honest man ; but his knowledge of Sackville’s 
character blunted the efficacy of the attack. It was 
but the encounter of artifice with artifice, of guilt 
with guilt. It was a mere trial of boldness and ad- 
dress, in which the secret stings of an evil con- 
science had no power to operate. 

‘‘ Mr. Sackville,” said Allen, calmly, I have 
no objection to tell you my reasons, for I wish to 
be open in my dealing with you. I know, Sir, 
that you have in your possession evidence against 
me, which, if you chose to make use of it, might 
ruin me for ever. But, Sir, I have been consider- 
ing the subject, and I don’t think that you will 
ever choose to make use of it in that way. I am 
a plain, simple man. Sir, and no lawyer j but I 
know that there is such an offence as misprision 
of felony; and I know, that in case of a trial, 
even though you did bring me to justice, it could 
not be very easy for you to clear yourself of that 
offence in the opinion of the public; and I think. 
Sir, that it would be in my power, to let out such a 
history of all our transactions, as would go near to 
make you fly the country. I don’t say that you 
would suffer any thing from the law; but you 
would certainly lose your character; and a charac- 
ter is of too much consequence to a gentleman in 
your situation, for you to run the risk of injuring it, 
merely for the sake of punishing a poor man like 
me, even though I had offended you ever so much. 
On this account. Sir, I don’t think that you will 
ever bring me to trial for the forgery, and I have 


200 HERBilRT LACT. 

determined to brave the consequences of resisting 
your orders. 

There was something in the dogged business- 
like calmness of this defiance, which made it as 
formidable as it was annoying. At the same time, 
there was a studied ingenuity in the assignment of 
the motives of Allen’s present conduct, which 
brought fresh evidence to Sackville’s mind, that 
Allen Was guilty of the removal of the forged pa- 
per. How to reply to him was a difficult ques- 
tion. Fraud and flattery would be equally una- 
vailing, and would tend to raise the demands of 
his antagonist, by a tacit confession of weakness. 
To persuade, was hopeless; it was better if possi- 
ble to bully. Allen was probably ignorant of the 
extent of Sackville’s information, and a sudden 
announcement of it, might perhaps awe him into 
submission. 

Allen,” said the latter, your reasons do 
credit to your ingenuity; but they are not the real 
ones. I know them and will tell them” — then 
after a pause, calculated to give effect to his words, 
he added in a tone of impressive solemnity, I 
accuse you of having, on the morning of the six- 
teenth, a little after midnight, burglariously enter- 
ed my house at Trentford, and stolen from thence 
the forged paper, which I had in my possession. 
This I know, and from evidence of the strongest 
kind. That evidence I shall not detail; but you 
may have reason to rue its accuracy, if you per- 
sist in your present opposition to my wishes.” 

Allen received this terrible accusation with an 
air of evident confusion; but it was the confusion 
of astonishment, rather than of guilt, and was 
scarcely more than might have been evinced, un- 
der such circumstances, by an innocent person. 
When he first spoke, it was to request, with an 


HERBERT LACY. 


201 


admirable look of bewilderment, that Mr. Sack- 
ville would do him the favour to repeat what he 
had just said. 

I cannot understand you, Sir,’’ said he, when 
he had heard it a second time, ‘‘I cannot for the 
life of me. It is no joking matter, and yet I can 
hardly think you in earnest. I ask you. Sir, do 
you seriously believe me to have stolen the pa- 
per ?” 

I do,” replied Sackville, sternly. 

Very well — then I am to understand that the 
paper is missing ?” 

Sackville was silent. 

^‘Silence gives consent,” resumed the other, 
with a coarse smile. ‘‘ This is good news for me 
— I am free — and now, Sir, we no longer stand 
upon the same terms as formerly.” 

“ Ferlmpo not,** Sackville, but they 

are little changed for your advantage. char- 

acter is still in my power, and probably your life.” 

My life is as safe as yours. Sir; and as for 
my character — you say it is in your power — yes, 
and your character is in mine: but upon that point 
the sooner we come to an understanding the bet- 
ter. To say that you can ruin my character is all 
very fine between ourselves; but I would not ad- 
vise you to try. If you are wise, you will not ac- 
cuse me of this cock-and-bull robbery of the paper 
you have lost — no; nor of the old business of the 
forgery. Say nothing you cannot support, or you 
shall find what it is to meddle with people’s repu- 
tations. I know that the law can give me redress, 
and the law shall — and if you were to speak 
against me, I would bring my action for defama- 
tion, as soon as look at you. As for your trial, and 
your proofs, and your evidence of a robbery that 
never existed, I laugh at them, Sir; I laugh at them, 


202 


HERBERT LACY. 


It is easy enough to spread slander, but it is not 
so easy, in a court of justice, to substantiate a lie. 
Besides, supposing, for argument’s sake, that I 
had actually committed the robbery you talk of, I 
should like to know. Sir, how you would indict 
me ? What is the value of the forged paper ? 
How would you describe it? How will you ac- 
count for your possession of such a paper? and who 
will you bring to swear that it ever existed ? And 
supposing (which is very improbable) that you 
could succeed in convicting me, how would your 
character bear my true account of all the transac- 
tions that have passed between us! No, Sir, silence 
would be your safest course, even if I had stolen 
the paper, and would confess it here before a wit- 
ness. And now, as for the forgery. Sir, of which 
I do confess myself guilty; as you seem to have 
lost the only proof. ***»' advise you never to 
rnciicion It. 1 cannot Suffer attacks upon my chari- 
acter. It stands very cleat with the world at large, 
and I am determined to keep it so. Therefore, 
Sir, take notice— if I ever find, that you have even 
so much as hinted what you know of that affair, I 
shall think it a duty— a duty which I owe to my- 
self, and my family, to defend myself by bringing 
an action against. yoU. You need not look so angry. 
Sir. I speak for your sake as much as for my own ; 
for if you should be so imprudent as to talk, I dare 
say the law will allow me to redress myself, pretty 
handsomely, at your expense.” 

Admirable!” exclaimed Sackville, goaded be- 
yond the bounds of forbearance. «« And have you 
the effrontery to say this to me ? — me, who have 
seen you so long in your true colours, and know 
what a poor, mean, shuffling scoundrel you are ? 
and to threaten me with the consequences of speak- 
ing the truth! I thought I had known you; but 


HEKBERT LACT. 


203 


this pitch of impudence exceeds all I could have 
believed.” 

“ Now, Sir, you talk like a gentleman,” said 
Allen, with the most insulting composure. ‘‘ I 
could stand for an hour and listen to you. I am 
not in any hurry. Sir; you may go on abusing 
me.” 

There was something in the calm derision of Al- 
len’s words and manner, more insupportably gal- 
ling to Sackville, than the utmost vehemence of 
invective could have been. Though endued with 
strong powers of self command, he could not con- 
trol the expression of his rage. 

Leave the house,” said he, “ infernal villain!” 
and scarcely could he restrain his hands from an 
act of violence. 

But nothing could ruffle the composure of Allen. 

We are alone. Sir,” said he with a sneer, as he 
coolly smoothed the brim of his hat, “ and calling 
names is mere child’s play; but when you speak to 
me next, Mr. Sackville, say something actionable 
before witnesses, and I shall be obliged to you. 
Good day. Sir;” and once more surveying Sack- 
ville from head to foot, with a smile of defiance, 
he turned round, and left the room. 

Never yet had Sackville experienced feelings so 
bitter as those which this interview had excited. 
He had been thwarted, defied, insulted, by the man 
whose words and actions were lately subservient 
to his will, and who could scarcely be said to live 
but by his permission. He had been proved in- 
ferior in address, in confidence, and in temper, to 
one who was greatly below him in station, and in 
all those mental acquirements, of which Sackville 
had most reason to be proud. But he had stooped 
from his height to be this man’s associate in guilt, 
and he felt, too late, that guilt had levelled all dis- 


504 


HERBERT LACIT. 


tinctions. He felt too that all those endowments 
which would have aided his advancement in a 
worthier career, now redounded to his disadvantage. 
They were but clogs that impeded his descent into 
those miry paths, of villainy which he .had de- 
meaned himself to tread. 

Bad as he was, he had still some gentlemanly 
scruples, some faint feeling of honour, which tend- 
ed only to weaken him in the conflict with one who 
had none; and he found at length, that he was con- 
tending with a wretch, who Tike the unjust stew- 
ard in the parable, was wiser in his generation.” 

These thoughts occurred to Sackville, and raging, 
in his bosom, formed ‘‘ the proper hell” of baffled 
wickedness. 

When his anger cooled, he had also to accuse 
himself of folly, in having allowed Allen to de- 
part, without having again endeavoured to treat for 
the delivery of the letters. His plan of terrifying 
him into submission had evidently failed, and it 
was, therefore, necessary to have recourse to gent- 
ler methods. It, however, appeared to Sackville, 
upon more mature consideration, that such methods 
could be tried with a greater prospect of success in 
the course of another interview, and that in the 
mean w^hile his threats might have had more eflfect 
than Allen was willing to admit. 

In this conjecture, Sackville was right. Allen 
was not so regardless of Sackville’s threats to bring 
him to trial for the burglary at Trentford, as he af- 
fected to be. He did not know that Sackville 
might not be in possession of powerful evidence, 
or even that a confession might not have been ex- 
torted from his accomplice; but he knew that, at 
all events, there was nothing to be gained, and 
much to be hazarded— by immediate submission 
or even by an appearance of irresolution and fear. 


HERBERT EACT. 


205 


The soundest policy urged him to assume the atti- 
tude of innocence and security. This, if Sackville’s 
threats were destitute of foundation, would enable 
him to persevere in his exorbitant demands; if not, 
and danger was really to be feared, it would be 
equally easy to conciliate Sackville at a more ad- 
vanced stage of the business. 


is 


VoL. tU 


r206 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Which b the villain? — let me see his eyes. 

Than when I note another man like him, 

1 may avoid him. 

Much ado ahold JDTothing, 

After watching the struggles and broodings of 
guilt, we will now turn to the more agreeable con- 
templation, of the steps pursued by -Lacy for vin- 
dicating his injured honour. He had now learned 
that Mr. Morton suspected him of having behaved 
with the basest treachery — of having, at the time 
of his frank and friendly declaration on the hust- 
ings, secretly participated in a plot, which was to 
secure him the election, by plunging his opponent 
into ruin and disgrace. He did Mr. Morton the 
justice to believe, that these injurious suspicions 
had not been gratuitously assumed. He believed 
them to have been suggested by others; and it was 
now his task to unravel the tissue of misrepresen- 
tations by which those suggestions had been con- 
veyed. He preferred, for the prudential reasons 
which we have mentioned above, to effect his jus- 
tification without communicating with Mr. Mor- 
ton, but to prove the absence of all collusion from 
the confessions of those by whom the legal process 
had been conducted. 

In this investigation he was favoured by acci- 


HERBERT LACY. 


207 


dent. He had been applied to, by a person of the 
name of Wilkinson, for his recommendation and 
assistance in procuring an office then vacant in the 
county. The applicant hinted in his letter, which 
was worded rather obscurely, that this request, if 
granted, would not be the first obligation he had 
received; but hoped, that he should not be consi- 
dered altogether an undeserving object. To this 
Lacy replied by professing his ignorance of any 
other favour that he had conferred, or cause that 
existed for it — declining to recommend without a 
knowledge of the qualification of the parties, and 
declaring that, cseteris paribus, he must support 
the application of another person. 

It was soon after the despatch of this answer, 
that Lacy left London for Wichcombe. One of 
his objects, when in that neighbourhood, was to 
see the attorney employed against Mr. Morton, 
and the creditor who sued him for debt, and to dis- 
cover if they had any knowledge of the existence 
of such an injurious opinion as Mr. Morton seem- 
ed to entertain. A short inquiry soon informed 
him that the creditor of Mr. Morton, and the man 
of the name of Wilkinson, who had lately written 
to him, were one and the same person. Wilkin- 
son lived at no great distance from Wichcombe, 
and no sooner had he heard of Lacy’s arrival in 
that town, than he came over to see him, full of 
indignation at the unfavourable manner .in which 
his application had been met. 

‘‘I am not a Wichcombe voter. Sir,” said the 
man; ‘‘but I think I deserve some encourage- 
ment, for all that; for I can make bold to say that 
I have done you a good turn, and at the last elec- 
tion too.” 

“ Explain yourself,” said Lacy. 

“ Oh, there is no need of that: you know well 


208 


HERBERT LACV. 


enough, Sir, that I was the person who sent the 
bailiffs to Dodswell, and made Mr. Morton give 
up the contest.’^ 

I know it said Lacy. 

The man smiled at the implied denial of having 
known it before. 

Even if that circumstance had gained me the 
election,’^ pursued Lacy, which it did not, for I 
was at the head of the poll before it occurred, I 
should be very sorry that it should be considered 
any reason for my favouring or assisting you.’^ 

Oh, certainly, Sir, — replied the man, with 
an odd look of intelligence, “ it need not be co7i^ 
sidered so; but you know it is a reason between 
ourselves. 

No,’^ said Lacy, rather indignantly, I deny 
that, with me, it "either is or will be so.’’ 

Wilkinson again smiled, and was silent. Lacy 
was struck with his manner, and determined not 
to neglect so fair an opportunity of pursuing his 
intended inquiry. ‘‘You seem,” said he, to Wil- 
kinson, “ not to believe me. You seem to think, 
I know not why, that a secret understanding exists 
between us; your letter conveyed that impression, 
and your words and manner express the same; 
this is to me a mystery, and I wish to break 
through it: speak out, plainly and boldly, and let 
us have done with hints and inuendos.” 

Wilkinson looked puzzled. “ Oh, very well, 
Sir — as for that — I can have no objection to speak 
out plainly and boldly to you; I only thought 
you did not wish it.” 

“ And why so ?” 

“ Because, Sir, you know very well that you 
don’t like to seem to know any thing about the 
matter.” 

“ About what matter ?” 


HERBERT LACY. 


509 


Lord! Sir! — why, begging your pardon, what 
can be the use of keeping up these sort of preten- 
ces among ourselves ? — as if we did not both of us 
know that you were at the bottom of my proceed- 
ings against Mr. Morton!” 

Lacy’s astonishment at this intimation was ex- 
treme. He knew that gross deceit must have ex- 
isted in some quarter, but he had no suspicion of 
its having been employed upon the suing creditor 
himself. The investigation which followed brought 
to light much of the scandalous arts which had 
been used to deceive him. It appeared that he 
had been urged, partly by anonymous letters, 
partly by the actual intervention of Allen, so to 
arrange the execution of the writ as to distress Mr. 
Morton in the midst of the election. This being 
done, he was informed by Allen, that he had con- 
ferred a favour upon Mr. Lacy, which would not 
soon be forgotten; that the plan had his approbation 
and that he was the writer of the anonymous let- 
ters. At the same time, Wilkinson was inform- 
ed, that Mr. Lacy was one of those affectedly 
squeamish persons who, though very willing to 
profit by the misdeeds of others, are loth to admit 
their concurrence in them, or even their fore- 
knowledge and tacit approbation. He was there- 
fore warned that he would give serious offence, 
and forfeit the support of Mr. Lacy, if he ever 
wounded his delicacy by alluding to the part which, 
he bore in the transaction, or even to his own ser- 
vices. He was assured that he would reap the 
profit of this courtly forbearance, and would gain 
nothing by the opposite course. 

The former assurance seemed soon to be verified. 
Wilkinson wished to obtain for his son a place in 
the Excise. Alien was made the depositary of his 
intentions, and became his adviser in the mode of 
18 ^ 


210 


HERBERT LACY. 


proceeding. Instructed by Sackville, he counsel- 
led him not to make a direct application to Lacy, 
but to draw up a memorial, which would be 
placed by Allen in the hands of that gentleman. 
This was never done; on the contrary the applica- 
tion was entrusted to Sackville, and, through his 
exertions, was successful. 

Meanwhile, the applicant was made to believe 
that for this success, he was indebted not to Sack- 
ville, but to Lacy; and in order to prevent the dis- 
covery of his error, he was warned not to send to 
Mr. Lacy any letter of acknowledgment, but to 
express his gratitude to that gentleman tlirough 
the medium of a letter to Allen, which lie would 
find an opportunity of showing. This letter was 
liever shown to Lacy, and it was obtained with a 
different intention; it was to be shown to Mr. 
Morton, and became the means of confirming in 
his mind the belief of Lacy’s treachery. 

Lacy could not obtain from Wilkinson a know- 
ledge of this latter circumstance, nor was he yet 
aware of the extensive part which Sackville had 
taken in the organization of this plot. He could 
only be made acquainted with the agency of Allen; 
but he doubted not that he was employed by ano- 
ther; and his suspicions wavered between Lord 
Rodborough and Sackville. The latter was not 
connected with the borough; but he appeared, even 
on the showing of Wilkinson, to have some share 
in the transaction; and Lacy, who now began to 
take a truer estimate of his character, could'easily 
conceive that jealousy might prompt Sackville to 
endeavour to injure him in the opinions of the 
Mortons. 

The anger and surprise of the unfortunate Wil- 
kinson, in finding that he had been so completely 
duped, was much more violently expressed than 


HERBERT LACY. 


211 


the more just indignation of Lacy. Fortunately 
for Lacy, the former was so much incensed against 
Allen, for having rendered him so blind a tool, 
that he gladly consented to lend his assistance in 
unmasking that person and in undeceiving Mr. 
Morton. He went home to commence a search 
for written proofs of Allen’s delinquency ; and re- 
turning to Wichcombe, placed in Lacy’s hands one 
of the anonymous letters which had been attribu- 
ted to him, and also a letter from Allen, which, 
though not explanatory, contained sufficient allu- 
sions to afford a strong confirmation of the state- 
ments of Wilkinson. The anonymous letter bore 
the mark of the post town, nearest to Lacy Park, 
and was an excellent imitation of Lacy’s hand. 
In delivering up these letters, Wilkinson gave 
Lacy full permission to make of them whatever use 
he pleased; and he also consented to accompany 
him to town. 

Lacy arrived in London on the evening of that 
day which witnessed the last interview between 
^ackville and Allen. Having matured his plan of 
operations, he went, early the following morning, 
to the house where Allen was residing. He re- 
solved to try the efficacy of a surprise in a private 
conference with that person. He succeeded in 
ffinding Allen alone; and then, without preparing 
him by any preamble for that which was to follow, 
placed before him the anonymous letter, and de- 
manded whether he had ever seen it before. Al- 
len knew it well, and could not forbear starting 
with evident consternation, at the unexpected 
sight. However, he quickly recovered himself, 
and began to disclaim all knowledge of the letter: 
butit wasdone with awkwardness and hesitation, for 
he felt that his manner had betrayed him, and that 
he had evinced a surprise, which could never have 


212 


HERBERT LACY. 


appeared if he had not seen the letter before. Ne^ 
vertheless, he was proceeding with his denial, 
when Lacy stopped him. 

Allen,’’ said he, sternly, this is useless. I 
know what has passed, as my possession of this 
letter may convince you. I have also another 
written by you, which I obtained from Wilkinson. 
He has told me every thing, and I have brought 
him to town, that he may lay the circumstances, if 
necessary, before my solicitor. Your safest course 
is to make a full declaration of all you know; and 
in that case, and that only, your conduct may be. 
overlooked. I am aware that my character has 
been shamefully attacked; but as I do not yet 
know that it has been injured in the opinion of any 
except Mr. Morton, I shall be satisfied with an ex- 
planation before him, without having recourse to 
law; but I shall certainly avail myself of that me- 
thod of redress, if you refuse to make a full con- 
fession. I believe that you have not been acting 
simply on your own account, but are the instrument 
of some other person, and I demand to be told, in 
the first instance, who that person is.” 

Allen looked frightened and abashed; but his 
habitual caution did not desert him. ‘‘ I hope, 
Sir,” said he, ‘^you will excuse me, if I don’t 
answer you immediately. Whether a man is in- 
nocent or guilty, it is never prudent to reply off- 
hand, to these kind of questions. You seem to 
threaten me with an action. Now, Sir, if a man 
were to threaten me with an action, even in a case 
where the right was clearly on my side, I should 
think myself very impudent, if I were to snap my 
fingers, and tell him to do his worst. It is not 
pleasant to get into law whether one wins or loses. 

1 would always take time for consideration ; and 
therefore. Sir, I hope you will not be offended at 


HERBERT LACY. 


213 


my proposing, that when I have heard all you 
wish to say, I may be allowed to wait upon you 
in the course of a few hours with my answer.’’ 

‘‘ To that,” replied Lacy, ‘‘I shall not agree. 
Either you will go with me from hence to Mr. 
Morton’s, and explain in his presence the part 
that you have taken, or I shall consider your si- 
lence as a refusal, and proceed with Wilkinson to 
my solicitor. You may deside at your leisure, but 
it shall be in my presence. I will have no consul- 
tations with confederates.” 

Lacy then turned away, and taking up a news- 
paper, left Allen to his own reflections. 

That wary person was much embarrassed by 
Lacy’s promptitude and firmness, and found him- 
self unexpectedly brought into a situation of con- 
siderable difficulty. He took a rapid mental sur- 
vey of all that could be adduced in favour of the 
policy, either of submission or resistance; and 
found that there was most to be said for the for- 
mer. It was true, that in that case he must for- 
feit all chance of extorting money from the fears 
of Sackville; but a late interview had taught him, 
that such expectations were but slightly founded. 
He had already quarrelled with Sackville, and de- 
fied his powers; and in exposing him before Lacy 
and Mr. Morton, he should be gratifying one 
strong passion of his heart — revenge. He also 
knew that Sackville’s credit vvas on the wane; 
and it therefore became advisable to dissolve all con- 
nection with a man who would soon cease to be a 
creditable patron. 

In failure of him, it was desirable to attach him- 
self to the service of some more eligible chief. 
Lacy was a rising man, of good expectations, and 
esteemed by* the world; and if Allen could, by an 
earnest reparation of the injuries he had commit- 


214 


HERBERT LACr. 


ted, and by apparent zeal for his cause induce 
Lacy to overlook the numerous attendant stains 
upon his honesty, and lend him his future coun- 
tenance and protection, he might hope to derive 
no slight advantage. These were some of the sen- 
timents that flashed across the mind of Allen, and 
they disposed him to make his peace with Lacy, 
and to lay open the iniquities of Sackville. 

This important step was immediately taken; 
and in a short time Lacy became possessed of a 
complete knowledge of the various arts which had 
been employed against him, by the man whom he 
once thought his friend. When Allen had open- 
ed his communications, he took care to gain some 
credit to himself, by making them full and satis- 
factory, and extending them to every particular in 
which Lacy was likely to be interested. They 
therefore embraced not only the machinations of 
which Lacy seemed the immediate object, but those 
by which Sackville had effected his engagement 
with Miss Morton. 

Deep was the disgust and indignation of Lacy, 
as this dark picture of subtle villainy was gradual- 
ly unfolded. His surprise was less; for it could 
hardly be said that the truth had burst upon him 
unexpectedly. The communication did but serve 
to confirm previous suspicions of foul play, for which 
he had formerly reproached himself, and which he 
had tried to dismiss, as illiberal and ungrounded. 

But it was now no time to dwell on retrospects. 
The present emergency called for action. The 
course of explanation was only begun, and much 
misunderstanding was still to be removed, between 
Lacy and Mr. Morton. A letter was immediate- 
ly sent to the latter, by Lacy, from Allen’s abode. 
It requested, in pressing terms, the favour of an 
admission to an immediate conference, and with- 


HERBEHT LACE. 215 

out entering into any explanatory details, briefly 
signified its important object. 

A favourable answer was returned; and Lacy, 
attended by Allen and Wilkinson, repaired to the 
house of Mr. Morton, 


2ie 


HERBERT LACY* 


CHAPTER XXVI 


Telle est la force d’un sentiment vrai que, lorsqu’il park, les in- 
lerpretations fausses et les convenances factises se taisent. 

B. Constant. Adolphe. 

To detail the progress of the investigation which 
took place in the presence of Mr. Morton, would 
be merely to recapitulate circumstances with which 
our readers are already acquainted. Suffice it to 
say thatj in the course of that conference, the ar- 
tifices of Sackville were completely unmasked, 
and the integrity of Lacy established, in a man- 
ner that carried entire conviction to the mind of 
Mr. Morton. 

Sackville, meanwhile, remained in ignorance of 
the event which tended so materially to affect his 
views; and knew not that, in one hour, the spe- 
cious fabric of artifice, which he had so long and 
anxiously reared, had crumbled to dust beneath 
the touch of truth. Such had been the prompti- 
tude of Lacy’s proceedings, that the interviews 
with Allen and with Mr. Morton had both taken 
place, before Sackville knew that he was returned 
to London. 

On the morning after Sackville’s last angry con- 
ference with Allen, he was engaged with business, 
and obliged to forego an intended visit to the Mor- 
tons. Having, however, despatched his affairs, he 
was on the point of bending his course towards 
the residence of the Mortons, when a packet was 
put into his hand. It was in Mr. Morton’s hand- 


HERBERT LACY. 


217 


writing; and Sackville, on perusing it found, with 
vshame and dismay, that it contained a full and cir- 
cumstantial statement of many of those parts of his 
past conduct which he was most desirous of con- 
cealing. The communication was also accompanied 
with copies of those letters and papers, the posses- 
sion of which he had been so anxious to obtain 
from Allen. In short, the exposure seemed to have 
been complete; and the concluding part of the 
letter showed that the impression made by it upon 
the sentiments of Mr. Morton, was of the most 
unfavourable kind. It refused to admit Sackville to 
a personal conference, until he had sent, in writing, 
a denial of the truth of the allegations made against 
him and of the authenticity of the letters and pa- 
pers which supported them. 

‘‘If,’* pursued Mr. Morton, “you cannot make 
this denial, and also establish its correctness; if you 
cannot remove the opinion, which (though much 
against my will) I am now bound to entertain, by 
contrary testimony of as powerful a description; if 
you cannot impugn the veracity of Allen, it is al- 
most needless for me to say that we can no longer 
meet on the same terms as formerly, and it will be 
better for both of us if we never meet again. Your 
character must be thoroughly cleared from every 
stain that has been cast upon it by the disclosures 
which I transmit to you, before I can admit you to 
an alliance with my family. My daughter, who is 
informed of all, will, if she does not see you justi- 
fied, assuredly dissolve her engagement; and were 
she disposed to act otherwise, I myself should in- 
terpose the authority of a parent to save her from 
a union with dishonour.” 

In these few concluding sentences Sackville 
viewed the extinction of those hopes which he had 
so long and fondly cherished. He was debarred 
from the only means by which he could hope to rc- 

VoL. II. 19 


218 


HERBERT LACT. 


trieve his lost credit. The adventitious aids of mail' 
ner and address, his persuasive sophistry, and art- 
ful insinuation, which could have been employed 
so effectually in a personal conference, were per- 
emptorily denied him; and he was bidden, in a 
spirit of stern justice, to combat facts by facts, and 
rest his defence upon a plain, unvarnished statement 
of the truth. He meditated long upon the possibility 
of accomplishing his vindication in the undelusive 
method that had been prescribed, and, with bitter 
repining, acknowledged that it was hopeless. He 
felt that, from that moment, his engagement with 
Agnes was virtually dissolved. He was defeated: 
but ever mindful of securing to himself every possi- 
ble advantage, no sooner had he made this morti- 
fying acknowledgment, than he resolved to turn 
upon his accusers, and assume the lofty air of in- 
jured rectitude and proud defiance. 

His answer to Mr. Morton was written in this 
spirit. scorn, said he, “ to reply to the mass of 
calumnies which have been levelled against me — I 
shall not stoop to expose them. They are too flimsy 
to have weight in the mind of any one who does 
not wish to believe them true. Little did I ima- 
gine that even an enemy could be found who would 
so greedily receive them — still less that they would 
be entitled to immediate credit from the man who 
has so long professed himself my friend. But it 
seems that I have been grievously deceived. You 
say true, Sir, ‘ we can no longer meet on the same 
terms as formerly, and it will be better for both of 
us if we never meet again. ’ I thank you for speak- 
ing so plainly on the subject of my intended mar- 
riage with your daughter. Sincerity has come late; 
but I am glad that it should have appeared at all. 
You had a wound to inflict, and you have done it 
with an unshrinking haste, which does credit to 
your firmness and decision, and which my worst 


HERBERT LACY. 


219 


foe might have reason to admire. You have not 
scrupled to profess your willingness to discard me, 
even before your have heard my vindication. You 
hint that Agnes is no less willing to think ill of me 
than yourself, and I am not permitted to have any 
other testimony than your assurance. If true, it is 
a cruel return for years of love and zealous devo- 
tion. The intimation is, without doubt, meant to 
wound me deeply, and it does. But I will make 
no parade of what I feel. 

“Little as my feelings have been consulted, I 
am still desirous to spare yours. I will save you, 
Sir, the painful task of interposing the ‘ authority 
of a parent’ to save your daughter from ‘ a union 
with dishonour.’ I resign the prospect of her hand. 
My wife she can never be, after that which you have 
thought proper to declare; but as long as my influ- 
ence lasts, you must not expect me to consent to 
her becoming the wife of another. I owe it to my- 
self to express, in this manner, my sense of the treat- 
ment I have received. I might have expressed that 
sense of my wrongs more harshly; I might have al- 
lowed the breach of our contract — a written con- 
tract, which I have in my possession — to have pro- 
ceeded entirely from your daughter; and the law 
would have given me my revenge. But, meanly 
as you may prize me, I have too much delicacy and 
honour to drag her name before the public, and 
render the history of our past engagement a subject 
for the retailers of scandalous gossip and the pur- 
veyors of a licentious press.” 

Thus wrote Sackville, after an exposure against 
which he could not defend himself, which blasted 
his character, destroyed his hopes, and ought to 
have covered him with shame and confusion. He 
had endeavoured, and not unsuccessfully, to assume 
the proud bearing of conscious virtue. He knew 
that he was opposed by facts; but his was the effort 
of desperation. The difficulties of his situation in- 


220 


HERBERT LACY. 


spired him with a kind of reckless energy, and he 
resolved to swagger himself out of the galling sense 
of his own debasement. 

Experience too often teaches us that outward 
signs of shame and humiliation are not necessarily 
attendant upon detected guilt. It is not to be sup- 
posed that depraved characters have that sensitive 
consciousness of their situation which honourably 
minded persons, judging from their own sentiments, 
naturally imagine them to feel. Neither is it to be 
supposed that, even if they did feel much, they 
would suffer it to become apparent. It is not likely 
that the dissimulation and sophistry of which a per- 
son has long availed himself, should desert him at 
his utmost needj or that, when reduced to the re- 
source of his own address, that address should not 
be powerfully exerted in covering his defeat. 

It is among the trials of our state, that neither 
does the course of guilt appear so hateful, nor its 
punishment so severe and certain, as we conceive 
it ought to be; and that the acknowledged villain 
shall walk through the world with as bold a car- 
riage as his honest neighbour, shaking the confi- 
dence of the feebly virtuous, and dispensing en- 
couragement to the minor scoundrels that strive to 
emulate his audacity. But let it not be imagined 
that where no punishment is seen to fall, it will 
necessarily follow that none is felt. Let not the 
probable existence of ^Hhat within which passeth 
show,^’ be utterly forgotten. Let it rather be be- 
lieved, that the wound is most severe in him who 
labours most to hide it; and that he is not least a 
prey to secret shame, who most proudly blazons 
his contempt of censure. 

Sackville’s audacious spirit of retaliation was not 
confined to the letter from which we have given 
the foregoing extract. On the following morning 
he called upon Lacy, whom he found alone. He 
entered with a reserved and lofty air, and met 


HERBERT LACY. 


221 


Lacy’s eye with a firmness that induced the latter 
to believe at first that he was still ignorant of the 
disclosures that had taken place. 

But Sackville’s first words undeceived him. 
Drawing himself up into an attitude of defiance, and 
fixing his eyes upon Lacy, with a most severe and 
apalling scrutiny, he sternly demanded, 

‘‘Mr. Lacy, do you believe that I have injured 
you?” 

The reply was given in one word — “Yes.” 

Then followed a pause — a pause of expectation 
in Lacy, of surprise and embarrassment on the^part 
of Sackville. The latter was quite disconcerted by 
the unexpected plainness and brevity of Lacy’s an^ 
swer. He had formed for Lacy, in his own mind, 
a very different reply, to which he had provided a 
pointed and powerful rejoinder; but that decisive 
monosyllable had rendered all his tactics useless. 
Nevertheless, his usual promptitude in resources 
did not desert him. 

* “I admire your sincerity. Sir,” said he to Lacy, 
“ though I think your opinions might have been 
somewhat more charitable. I am then to understand 
that, on the word of a rascally land-surveyor, you 
are willing to believe that I have acted dishonoura- 
bly, though you have not yet heard my defence.” 

“ Yes,” again replied Lacy; “ but I wish to hear 
that defence, and shall be glad to find reason for 
changing my opinion.” 

“And do you think. Sir,” retorted Sackville, 
scornfully, “ that I came here with the paltry ob- 
ject of defending myself against the calumnies 
which a low-born miscreant may choose to utter, 
and which you, in your charity, may think proper 
to believe?” 

“ I cannot tell what is your object,” said Lacy, 
“but if it had been to correct a misrepresentation; 
I could not have considered it a paltry or unworthy 


222 


HERBERT LACY. 


one. If I am in error, I am sorry for it; and still 
more that you should wish me to remain so. I may 
reasonably regret that so little value is put upon my 
good opinion. 

^‘Doubtless, you may,’’ replied Sackville, with 
a sneer; ‘‘ but you need .not let that wound your 
pride. I should not prize the good opinion of any 
man, were he the best and greatest in the land, if 
that good opinion could be resigned as easily as 
yours has been. I repeat, Sir, I do not come here 
to defend myself; but, I do not choose that you or 
any man should construe my silence into shame or 
fear, or suppose that, because I scorn to reply, I 
am willing to acknowledge the justice of all the 
slander that has been uttered against me. I can 
face my accusers, and boldly too, as you can testi- 
fy; and I leave you to judge, whether that would 
have been the case, if all were true that is said 
against me. Mark my words, Mr. Lacy, the time 
may come when you will repent of having so wil- 
lingly thought ill of me. I will not boast of what 
you owe me — let your own conscience tell you 
that. Meanwhile, pursue your own course. I am 
no humble suitor for your gratitude — no, nor for 
your silence. If you wish to trumpet forth the his- 
tory of your imaginary wrongs, do it. If you wish 
to extol your own forbearance, while you are revil- 
ing me behind my back in every company you en- 
ter, do it. If you wish to blacken the character of 
one to whom you owe more than you ever can re- 
pay, in the name of all that is mean, treacherous, 
and ungrateful, do it. Say your worst — I do not 
fear it. My reputation stands too firm to be shaken 
by a word of yours. The mischief will only re- 
coil upon the heads of its agents. Use your tongue 
freely and boldly — I shall not call you to account, 
It would do me little credit to be killed by you, 


HERBERT LACT. 


223 


and my principles will not allow me to take a life 
which I once saved. 

The object of this violent and galling speech was 
not only to assume the proud security of conscious 
innocence, but to irritate Lacy into some unguard- 
ed act or expression, which might give Sackville an 
advantage over him. But Lacy, though, perhaps, 
not qualified to contend with Sackville in subtlety, 
had that firmness of principle, and rectitude of in- 
tention, which stood him in better stead than art. 
He regarded Sackville when he had ended, with a 
steadiness, before which the eye of the latter .mo- 
mentarily fell. 

^^Mr. Sackville,’’ he said, what creditable 
purpose can this bravado serve? If you wished to 
insult and give me pain, you have succeeded; but 
if you wished to goad me into revengeful violence 
and forgetfulness, you have not succeeded, nor ever 
shall. I have volunteered no charge against you, 
and I ask you for no reparation. The injury that 
was done, has already been repaired without your 
interposition; and my desire, from that moment, 
was to forget that you had ever been my enemy. 
You are safe. Sir, from all attacks of mine, and I 
shall never, henceforth, breathe a syllable to your 
disadvantage. I am inclined to believe that you 
were conscious of your safety, and secretly did me 
the justice to think that I should not act so mean a 
part. In either case, it would have been more ge- 
nerous and noble, to have withheld your taunts. 
You might also have withheld your allusion to a 
duel, and your attempted reflection on my courage, 
which I heartily despise, and, as you well know, 
with reason. It argued little of the magnanimity 
to which you lay claim, to have boasted reproach- 
fully of the service you once afibrded me. You did 
me a cruel injustice in assuming that I required to 
be reminded of it. I can never forget it, and I 


224 HERBERT LACY. 

must always be grateful. You have done much, 
and you may do more, to lessen that gratitude; 
but nothing ever ought to extinguish it. You have 
cruelly sported with my character, and belied me 
with those whose esteem I had most reason to va- 
lue. You have embittered many a past hour. You 
have done that which might have caused me to 
hate you; but I thank God I do not, nor will I ever 
injure you, if I can help it.” 

Sackville seemed moved. A flush of upbraid- 
ing shame passed hastily across his features. A 
severe internal struggle appeared to agitate his 
mind, and he turned away to conceal its visible in- 
dications from the eye of Lacy. 

‘‘I am sensible. Sir,” said he at length, with a 
more softened manner, and in a tone of mournful 
seriousness, ‘Hhat the term of our intimacy has 
come to a close. After I have quitted this room, 
we may never meet again ; we shall certainly never 
speak to each other; but I will not leave you with 
the impression that I have not the courage to con- 
fess my faults. I acknowledge that I Aave injured 
you.” 

He then requested a pen and paper, and sat 
down to write. His letter (for such it seemed) 
was very short, and occupied him only a few mi- 
nutes. When he had finished, he sealed it; and 
having written on the outside, placed it in Lacy’s 
hands. In lieu of direction, were the following 
words: — ‘‘To be opened by Mr. Lacy, only in the 
presence of Mr. Morton, and not until he has re- 
ceived express permission in writing from me. E. 
Sackville.” 

Lacy read these words with surprise, and look- 
ed at Sackville, as if to request an explanation. 

“I see,” said the latter, “that you think my 
conduct strange, and perhaps suspicious; but it 
will be satisfactorily e^cplained whenever that pa- 


HERBERT LACY. 


225 


per shall be opened. But before I leave it in 
your hands, I must require your solemn promise 
never to open it but in the presence of Mr. Mor- 
ton, after having received permission from me. 
You must also promise, that should I at any time 
require you to destroy this paper, you will instantly 
burn it unopened.’’ 

Lacy promised to fulfil either injunction faith- 
fully. 

“I know,” added Sackville, ‘‘that I am deal- 
ing with a man of honour, and that when your 
word is given, it will be kept. I do not know 
whether the confidence I now place in you de- 
serves to be considered as any reparation for the 
pain I may once have caused you. If I were to 
say so, I should, perhaps, be rating much too high- 
ly the value of my own good opinion. At any 
rate, Sir, i am glad that the last opinion of your 
character, which you will now hear me utter, 
should be so favourable. . I hope it will prove just. 
Farewell I’"* 

So saying, he suddenly turned away, and before 
Lacy was aware of his intentions, and could re- 
turn that adieu which was to be their last, Sack- 
ville had left him. 


226 


HERBERT LACY. 


CHAPTER XXVII. i 


Beseech you, Sir, be merry; you have cause 
(So have we all) of joy; for our escape 
Is much beyond our loss! 

Tempest. 


Previous to the foregoing interview between 
Lacy and Sackville, Sackville^s letter had been re- 
ceived by Mr. Morton, and Agnes had been told 
that she was free. The announcement was receiv- 
ed with deep and overpowering emotion; and af- 
ter a vain struggle to control her feelings, she 
burst into tears.' They were tears neither of sor- 
row nor of joy; they were the overflowings of an 
oppressed and agitated spirit, which no longer 
sought to struggle against the weakness of its na- 
ture, when the exertion of self-command was no 
longer necessary, and the time of trial was past. 

But joy did succeed to these emotions when their 
bitterness had subsided, and allowed her to reflect 
on her present happier situation ; and fervently 
did she thank Heaven for having saved her from 
that most sure and enduring of human evils — a 
marriage without affection. 

Lacy, at the time of his interview with Sack- 
ville, was not informed of all that had passed be- 
tween him and the Mortons. He knew not that 
Sackville had renounced all further communication 


HERBERT LACY. 


227 


with that family, and that his engagement with 
Agnes was dissolved. This interesting fact be- 
came known to him only after the lapse of many 
days, and through the information of a common 
acquaintance, who had heard it from Lord Mal- 
vern. Subsequent reports confirmed the first, and 
Lacy was soon relieved from all doubt upon the 
subject. 

Believing that Agnes had never felt any affec- 
tion for Sackville, and was engaged to him against 
her wishes, Lacy sincerely rejoiced in her deliver- 
ance. But he could not feel that his own pros- 
pects w^ere materially brightened. He was pledged 
to Miss Hartley, and though he did not love her, 
he had too much honour even to meditate the deser- 
tion of her for another. Still he reflected that one 
great barrier was removed, that there was now no 
insuperable obstacle, and that Agnes might possibly 
become his, could he resolve to be so cruel and 
perfidious as to break his faith with Charlotte Hart- 
ley. She had now no guarantee but the firmness 
and rectitude of his resolution, and he vowed that 
she should not find it wanting. 

But Lacy did not confide presumptuously in 
his own strength of principle, but felt the neces- 
sity of employing every method that occupation 
and absence could afford, to overcome his attach- 
ment to Agnes. He knew that her presence must 
now be doubly dangerous to him, and he formed 
the painful determination of never seeing her again 
till he vvas married to Miss Hartley. He even 
meditated quitting London, lest he should acciden- 
tally meet her in society: but this intention was 
rendered needless, by an arrangement which was 
made by the Mortons themselves. 

After the quarrel with Sackville, the intended 
departure of the Mortons to the Continent, which 
was to have taken place immediately, was postpon- 


22S 


HERBERT LACY. 


ed till the middle of summer, and an offer was 
made them which would enable them to pass the 
intervening time more pleasantly than in their 
humble dwelling in London. The Duke of Swan- 
sea, whose intended nuptials we announced some 
time ago, had lately married, and after passing the 
first half of his honey moon at a villa at Twicken- 
ham, had gone with his bride abroad.. On this oc- 
casion, the Duke, not knowing the intentions of 
the Mortons to travel, good naturedly offered them 
the use of his villa, and they, having now changed 
their plan, gladly closed with the proposal. They 
accordingly quitted town for Twickenham, and 
signified their intention of remaining there till 
they went abroad. 

This circumstance, with which Lacy became ac- 
quainted, was sufficient to remove his fears of 
meeting Agnes again in London. But this was a 
cruel and melancholy cause for satisfaction; and 
Lacy could not suppress some bitter repinings, 
even when he felt that he ought to rejoice. He 
allowed that it was better that they should be far 
apart; but when he considered that she was soon to 
go into a foreign land; that seas were to divide them, 
and that she might probably stay many years, nay, 
perhaps die abroad, and that he might never see 
her more; he could not bear the picture that he had 
formed, and his eyes filled with tears at the melan- 
choly thought. 

He resolved (it was a foolish project, as he half 
allowed, but he could not forego it,) he resolved 
to discover the day of her departure, and shortly 
before it came, to see her for the last time. He 
did not mean to address her: he did not even 
mean that she should see him. He meant, unper- 
ceived, to steal a last look at her whom he loved, 
to treasure up her image in his memory, and hurry 
back, and be wretched. 


HRRBERT LACY. 


229 


One morning, about a fortnight after Lacy’s in- 
terview with Sackville, he received a letter, bear- 
ing the post-m{f|fk of a small town in the north of 
England, and written in a female hand. Lacy 
knew nobody in that neighbourhood from which it 
was sent, nor did he recognize either the seal, the 
hand, or the initials of the writer. It was a hasty 
scrawl, the substance of which, when decyphered, 
proved to be as follows: — 

I hardly know whether you will be surprised 
or not when you hear of the step I have taken ; but 
I hope you will not have been quite deceived, for 
I think you must have suspected what my real sen- 
timents were. I assure you it has not been my 
wish to behave disingenuously. I wanted, several 
months ago, to have made the communication to 
you in confidence, but you would not let me, 
though I cannot help thinking that you almost 
knew what I was going to say. If that was the case, 
you can easily excuse me, as I shall not have been 
the only person to blame. I cannot, however, 
help feeling that, under all circumstances, you 
ought to receive the intimation sooner than any 
body else, and this is the reason for my now ven- 
turing to write to you. I cannot say more at pre- 
sent, for I scarcely know how to address you upon 
such a subject; and,- 1 assure you, it is very unplea- 
sant for me to write at all, and I should not have 
done it, if I had not thought it proper. ” 

Here followed the signature, which consisted 
solely of the letters C. L. 

Lacy was completely puzzled. He could not 
divine the meaning of this mysterious note, nor 
could he discover its writer. He judged it to have 
come from a lady. It had all the neat and elegant 
characteristics of a female hand, so easily distin- 
guishable from that of a man, and yet so hard to 
he identified; so small, and faint, and flowing, and, 
unlike the scrawls of the other sex, still beautiful 
VoL. II. 20 


230 


HERBERT LA-CY. 


when scarcely legible. There were the usual ex- 
uberant capitals, the flourishing heads of the d’s 
and the long, curly tails of the ,y’s, /’s, and 
jr’s; the indistinguishable similarity of all the five 
vowels, and the common confusion of n’s and m’s 
with t^’s and ^^;’s. Lacy was acquainted with two 
ladies whose initials were C. L., but why either of 
them' should write to him at all, much less so sin- 
gular a letter, was more than he could comprehend, 
if it was a hoax, which he partly suspected, he 
could only say, thsit it was a very poor one. 

At length, however, on his reading the letter 
over again, an idea suddenly flashed across his 
mind, which threw a new and singular light upon 
the circumstance. Doubts and suspicions arose, 
which he became inexpressibly anxious to satisfy, 
and he waited, in the most eager suspense, for the 
arrival of the next day’s post. It came, and 
brought the following letter from his sister. 

My dear Herbert, 

I have a very unpleasant task to perform. I 
am to acquaint you with an event which has caused 
no slight grief and surprise to us all, and at which 
I am sure none will be more astonished than your- 
self. Charlotte has left us. She went away on 
Tuesday without our knowledge, and is now mar- 
ried to Mr. Luscombe. I feel quite bewildered, 
and at times can hardly believe it true. Consider- 
ing all circumstances, I own the step she has taken 
is beyond my comprehension. That she was once 
attached to you cannot be doubted, nor could I 
(iver perceive that the attachment declined, or that 
the engagement was irksome to her. But you 
have probably seen more, and can explain what 
has happened better than 1 can. I fear that she at 
length perceived your indifference to her, and was 
driven by that painful discovery to lier present rash 
and unfortunate proceeding. If she has been in- 


HERBERT LACY. 


231 


fluenced by pique, I am afraid she feels no attach- 
ment to the present object of her choice. I dread 
to think that such is the case, for it would be a 
terrible aggravation of the evils of this unfortunate 
affair. 

‘‘ I hope you cannot accuse yourself of having 
led to it, by any change of manner towards poor 
Charlotte. Though you may be glad of a release, 
I think you would be sorry to have purchased il 
at such a price. I trust, however, that she may 
still be happy. Angry as I must feel with Mr. 
Luscombe, for his treacherous and deceitful con- 
duct, I cannot but admit that he has some pleasing 
qualities. He is fortunately not so much Char- 
lotte’s superior in intellect as you would have been; 
and there will be more of that equality which is 
essential to conjugal happiness. I fear he has been 
influenced, chiefly, by mercenary considerations, 
and has no real love for her; but she is of an easy 
temper, and not romantic in her notions, and, pro- 
vided h.e treats her well, will probably be satisfied 
with tiie mere decencies of moderate affection. I 
will do him the justice to say, that I think his na- 
tural obligingness will prevent him from ever be- 
ing a harsh or unfeeling husband; and as Char- 
lotte’s intellectual wants are not extensive, I trust 
that good humour in a partner, will almost sufiice 
to make her happy. It is a very different match 
from such as I could have wished for her, but the 
evil is now past remedy, and we must try to make 
the best of it. 

Charles is just returned from his fruitless pur- 
suit. He saw his sister, who said that she had 
written to you. I wonder at it, but perhaps she 
thought that a letter would be some compensation 
for having used you so ill. I would have written 
sooner, but I did not like to send you any report 
fill I knew the whole truth. 

I went over to Lacy yesterday, and saw my 


232 


HERBERT LACY- 


mother,, who is very much afflicted at Charlotte's 
elopement. What chiefly harasses her now, is 
the fear of a duel between you and Mr. Luscombe. 
I hope nothing of the kind is to be apprehended, 
and so I tell her, but she will not believe me. 
Pray write soon, and set her mind at ease. This 
unpleasant affair has obliged us to defer, for a short 
time, our coming up to town: but I hope you may 
find us there in the course of a fortnight.^’ 

Great was the surprise of Lacy at this unexpect- 
ed release from his protracted state of thraldom. 
Serious as the event was, and disposed as he must 
be to regret the folly of an act which gave such dis- 
pleasure to his nearest relations, he could scarcely 
resist a smile at Lady Lacy’s fears lest he should 
call Luscombe severely to account. He even for- 
got all mortification at the deception which had 
been practised upon him, in thoughts of the happy 
prospects which his deliverance opened. He had 
been a prey to the most gloomy presages, the most 
bitter regrets, and now all was sunshine. He might 
truly be said to have earned the happiness ^f the 
present moment, by the honourable firmness of his 
late resolutions. He had not sown the seeds of 
repentance, by wavering in his plighted faith to 
Charlotte Hartley, but could look back upon his past 
intentions with the honest glow of self-approval. 

It is a galling thing to be jilted, especially when 
the jilting is accompanied with the breach of a jx)- 
sitive engagement. Lacy knew that he had every 
possible right to be exceedingly indignant; yet ne- 
ver did he experience the slightest anger, and when 
he called to mind the ambiguous conversation which 
he once held with Miss Hartley, and to which she 
alluded in her letter, he was rather inclined to laugh 
at the remembrance of their mutual misconception. 
The knowledge of her intended confession, served 
in some degree to acquit her, in his opinion, of the 


HERBERT LACY. 


233 


charge of deceit; therefore the weight of his dis- 
pleasure, had he felt any, must have fallen upon 
Mr. Luscombe. 

But Luscombe was not the sort of person against 
whom he could entertain a very lofty indignation. 
He also surmised, and very truly, that this gentle- 
man was not unconscious of his real sentiments 
with regard to Miss Hartley; and that he knew, 
that in carrying off that Lady, he should not be 
robbing Lacy of a treasure, the loss of which he 
would very deeply resent. 

That Miss Hartley should have preferred to 
Lacy, one so much his inferior in every respect as 
Luscombe, may at first appear strange; but it is ea- 
sily explained. It has been already sufiiciently 
shown that she was not qualified to estimate the 
superiority of l^acy at its proper rate. On the 
other hand, she was quick enough to discover, in 
spite of Lacy^s uniform kindness and civility of 
manner, that he did not care for her, nay more, 
that he despised her. It is difficult, perhaps im- 
possible, to love, under circumstances like these: 
to some minds it would be easier to hate. Indeed, 
it. is not improbable that Miss Hartley might have 
been partly supported in her system of deceit, by 
the hope of proving her superiority in artifice, over 
one wiio had presumed to undervalue her capacity. 
She felt that her mind had little in common with 
Lacy’s, whereas between herself and Luscom'be, 
there w^as a constant ^ongruity of sentiment, much 
of which was artfully assumed by the latter. She 
felt humbled before Lacy, but was elevated and 
flattered by the homage of Luscombe, wdio was all 
deference and attention. From the society of the 
latter, she derived constant pleasure; from that of 
the former, much occasional entertainment, but al- 
ways blended with a painful sense of inferiority. 

When such was the case, it is not wmnderful that 
.she would have preferred the bland, obsequious 
20 "^ 


234 


HERBERT LACY. 


Luscombe. Luscombe was the author of the de- 
ceitful course which Miss Hartley adopted towards 
Lacy, and of her eventual elopement. He was not 
devoid of regard for her, nor was he insensible to 
her 'beauty, but his principal object was her for- 
tune. He had little himself, and knew that in the 
event of an open courtship and proposal, he should 
be strongly opposed by her relations. Secrecy was 
therefore his only chance of success: and fortunate- 
ly for his designs, he found Miss Hartley to be one 
of those weak, timid characters, who are naturally 
disposed to prefer dissimulation to openness, and 
seek to defend themselves by the resources of arti- 
fice. 

Being an intimate acquaintance of her brother, 
Luscombe had frequent opportunities of seeing the 
young lady, and had secured her affections, and ex- 
changed vows even before the period at which this 
story commences. But he had long to wait, for 
Miss Hartley would not be of age till the end of the 
ensuing April, and by previous elopement he should 
fail in accomplishing his principal object. In the 
mean time, he contrived to blind her brother, and 
even the superior discernment of his lady, by af- 
fecting not to admire Miss Hartley, and professing 
himself a confirmed bachelor. With an admirable 
air of sincerity he concurred with the real wishes 
of Lady Lacy, and the pretended ones of Mrs. 
Hartley, that Herbert should be married to Char- 
lotte; and when the engagement was actually an- 
nounced, nobody spoke of it with greater pleasure 
both to them and their acquaintance. 

This elopement was a severe and just punish- 
ment to Mrs. Hartley. Not only were her pro- 
jects frustrated, but she was defeated with her own 
weapons, by persons whose talent and address she 
justly held to be inferior to her own. But in the 
ignominious warfare of cunning, the victory, as is 
meet, depends not upon those qualities of which 


HERBERT LACY. 


235 


any one has reason to be proud. The possession 
of high endowments is rather unfavourable to suc- 
cess. It induces a dangerous confidence, a dispo- 
sition to bold and open measures, and a disregard 
of those petty advantages of which meaner craft 
will not scruple to avail itself. Mrs. Hartley, it is 
true, was not calculated to feel the lofty security 
and noble unsuspiciousness of her brother; but she 
was undoubtedly led, by a consciousness of address, 
to place too great a reliance on her own discrimi- 
nation, and to pay too little attention to the actions 
of Charlotte Hartley and Mr. Luscombe, from the 
very erroneous belief that, let them do what they 
would, they could never deceive her. 


236 


HERBERT LACV. 


CHAPTER XXIIL 

• 

Wooing thee I found thee of more value 
Than stamps in gold, or sums in sealed bags, 

And ’tis the very riches of thyself 
That now I aim at. 

Merry Wives of Windsor. 

The time was now past when Lacy ■would con- 
sider it his duty to avoid the society of Agnes. All 
the serious obstacles which had opposed his love 
for her were now removed, and he accordingly 
made an early use of his newly acquired liberty, 
and called upon the Mortons at their residence at 
Twickenham. They had heard of Miss Hartley's 
marriage; and though scarcely any allusion could 
be made to such a subject, there was at least sulFi- 
cient to satisfy Lacy that they were informed of 
his release. 

He saw Agnes, and though it was but for a short 
time, and their conversation was unimportant, there 
was a conscious timidity in her manner towards 
him, and a blush on her cheek at the first meeting, 
from which he drew the happiest auguries. He 
staid long, and contrived to implicate himself in a 
commission for Lady Louisa, which would afford 
him an excellent reason for calling soon again. 
The second visit secured to Lacy a still greater de- 
gree of friendly intimacy with the family, and an 
invitation to dine with them en famille on a fol- 
lowing day. 

It was then, during the absence of the ladies after 
dinner, that the name of Sackville was first intro- 
duced, and in the course of conversation, Mr. 
Morton mentioned his office of trustee under the 


HERBERT LACY. 


237 


will of Mrs. Denham, and the power that he there- 
by possessed of withholding all except ten thousand 
pounds, of the fortune of Agnes, in case of her 
marrying before the age of twenty-four without his 
consent. 

That consent,” added Mr. Morton, he threat- 
ens to withhold; and after all that has passed it is 
absolutely impossible that we can ask him for it. 
My daughter, therefore, must not consider herself 
an heiress till her twenty-fourth year has expired. 
This is no family secret,” pursued he, or I should 
not have mentioned it.” 

There was nothing in the tone^or expression of 
Mr. Morton which indicated that his communication 
had been made with a particular object. But Lacy 
could easily understand that Mr. Morton contem- 
plated the possibility of a renewal of his addresses 
to Agnes, and had very honourably let fall, as if in 
advertently, a piece of information which would pre- 
vent Lacy from being deceived, and if his views 
were merely mercenary, would put a stop to his 
pursuit. Lacy also thought that Mr. Morton’s 
declaration that the above fact Avas not a secret, 
might be received by him as a permission to com- 
municate it to his father. Accordingly, in his next 
letter to Sir William, he stated that he still pre- 
served his attachment to Miss Morton, and that if 
no objection was made by his own family, he had 
reason to think that he had no further obstacle to 
apprehend. He confessed that it would be pre- 
sumptuous to make sure of the Lady’s consent be- 
fore he had offered his proposal, but he had seen 
enough to convince him that if there were difficul- 
ties, they were not insurmountable. He then men- 
tioned the circumstances stated by Mr. Morton, 
and expressed some pleasure at the thought that 
Agnes should have no reason to believe that she 
was sought on account of any other motive than that 
of affection. 


238 


HERBERT LACY. 


Lacy soon received an answer from his father, 
of which the following is a part. 

Do not expect me to be as liberally-minded as 
yourself. I shall not like Miss Morton a bit the 
better for having only ten thousand pounds instead 
of eighty thousand. But you need not let this 
alarm you. I shall like her well enough to allow 
her to be your wife — or rather, I like you well 
enough to allow you to be happy in your own way. 
But as the question is one of money, it will be bet- 
ter for me to tell you the state of my circumstances, 
and the allowance that I can make you, and then 
you will be able t® judge for yourself.” 

After some details, which it is needless to tran- 
scribe, the letter proceeded thus: 

‘‘You know what you have to expect, and may 
shape your course accordingly. With the addition 
of ten thousand pounds to your allowance you may 
he comfortable — with eighty thousand, affluent. 
Weigh these circumstances well. Fix the amount 
of what you conceive to be a competency. Mea- 
sure accurately your own disposition to content- 
ment, and, if possible, that of your intended bride. 
Dismiss, for a moment, your visions of love, and 
in a cool, cold, worldly vein of prudence, think 
how far wealth is essential to your happiness. This 
being done, you may be once more as romantic as 
you please. Consider too, that, by your own show- 
ing, if you choose to wait four years, you may 
marry Miss Morton without incurring the loss of 
the seventy thousand pounds. Reflect, then, for a 
moment, on the amazing prodigality of your love. 
Think that if you marry Miss Morton immediate- 
ly, you and that lady will be expending, in attach- 
ment, the monstrous sum of seventeen thousand, 
five hundred pounds per annum, which is much 
more than I humbly conceive any other pair of af- 
fections to be fairly worth. You will, perhaps, de- 
cide that your own are worth more, and I shall not 


HERBERT LACY. 


239 


quarrel with you, for nobody can be competent to 
settle that point but yourselves. 

“I again repeat — be cautious and considerate. 
Pursue a wise and even mean between the roman- 
tic disregard of money, and the illiberal pursuit of 
it; and know your own mind so thoroughly, that 
you may leave nothing to be discovered, when it is 
too late to retract. If you propose to Miss Mor- 
ton, acquaint her father immediately with the ex- 
tent of your promised allowance. Tell him, too, 
that I am informed of the circumstances you men- 
tion, and let him not suppose, that I am desirous of 
your marry ing for fortune. ” 

After this liberal and favourable reply, it only 
remained for Lacy to urge his suit, and to obtain 
the consent of Agnes herself. But though he could 
not feel very diffident of success, he was neverthe- 
less aware that delicacy required some caution and 
delay, and a due consideration of the circumstances, 
in which each of them were lately placed. How- 
ever well he might know the truth, it would be too 
much for him to assume that Agnes had no affec- 
tion for Sackville; and that so soon after a quarrel 
with one, whom she had almost engaged to love and 
honour, she was willing to outrage her former vows, 
by the acceptance of another person. 

Almost similar was his own situation with refer- 
ence to Miss Hartley, and there was this addition- 
al difficulty, that Agnes was not acquainted with 
the circumstances which had led to that engage- 
ment, and might, therefore, suppose that it pro- 
ceeded either from attachment on the part of Lacy, 
or what was worse, from mercenary motives. Ei- 
ther impression was unfavourable to his success, 
and it was difficult to conceive that Agnes should 
not entertain one of the two. 

Such were the considerations which prompted 
Lacy, in spite of the impatient ardour of his love, 
r.o see Agnes frequently, before he risked his hopes 


240 


HERBERT LACY. 


in a proposal. Without employing a single ex- 
pression indicative of attachment, he could easily 
cause her to perceive the enchaining pleasure 
which her society gave him, and he talked to her 
with an interest which could betoken nothing less 
than an approaching declaration: but he never saw 
her alone, and he could not introduce that subject 
which was nearest to his heart, without such an 
opportunity. 

At length, however, the opportunity arrived. 
He found her one morning alone in the shrubbery 
which encircled the villa, and inclined, in a gentle 
slope, towards the river. There was a cheerful 
beauty in the scene, which animated, and enliven- 
ed, and tended to dispel that feeling of reserve, 
which rendered an allusion to past events, not only 
difficult but painful. Lacy was enabled to men- 
tion in her presence, for the first time, the name 
of Miss Hartley, and failed not to avail himself of 
the introduction of such a subject, to tell her the 
origin and motives of his engagement, and the de- 
lusion in which he had remained. 

Agnes heard him in silence, not unaccompani- 
ed with agitation, for she judged that a communi- 
cation of so interesting a nature, could not be made 
without an object. Lacy observed every passing 
expression of her countenance, and could almost 
collect the import of her meditations. 

I hope,’’ said he, you will not be surprised 
or displeased at my venturing to tell you so much 
of the history of my own feelings. I think you 
must have observed that I entertain no common 
anxiety for your good opinion. The event which 
lias happened, would, under any other circumstan- 
ces, have been very painful to me; but you see 
that it is not, and 1 am sure you would have reason 
to think me a very unfeeling, cold-hearted person, 
if you did not know what my sentiments had been, 
and ^ what it was that led to my engagement. 


HERBERT LACY. 


241 


Won’t you allow that it would have been so — that 
but for this explanation, you would have thought 
me cold-hearted and fickle!” 

Perhaps I should,” replied Agnes, timidly, 
and blushing as she spoke. 

‘‘And that,” pursued Lacy, “is the last cha- 
racter I should wish you to give me: but perhaps 
I have not cleared myself sufficiently, and you 
think me so still?” 

“ I am almost afraid to answer you,” said Ag- 
nes, “for I do not feel privileged to judge; but 
since you desire it, I will venture to say, that I 
think you can hardly be accused of fickleness, 
since it appears, by your account, that you have 
always felt the same.” 

The countenance of Lacy brightened with plea- 
sure at these words, and Agnes discovered, with 
confusion, that her expressions admitted of ano- 
ther application besides that which she intend- 
ed. She was hastily attempting to qualify their 
meaning, when Lacy interposed. 

“Do not,” said he, “do not endeavour to un- 
say what is so true, and so delightful. I have in- 
deed, always felt the same, since those happy days 
which I passed in your society at Huntley. Of- 
ten have I been on the point of avowing it, and 
never has it been relinquished, even when your 
own engagement put a stop to every hope. Months 
then passed without my seeing you, and I became 
pledged to another, and I hoped, for it became a 
duty, that I had conquered my former feelings; 
but I saw you again, and all my admiration and 
attachment was revived as strongly as before — 
I tried to forget you — but I could not, and now I 
know that I never can. 

He had taken her hand, and she made no effort 
to withdraw it. Her face was turned away, and 
concealed by the other hand, and Lacy was not al- 
lowed to discover the emotion with which his de- 

VoL. ir. 21 


242 


HERBERT LACY. 


claration was received, but by the beautiful colour 
which suffused her neck. She made no reply; but 
so delightful to Lacy was her silence, that he scarce- 
ly wished even for the sound of that sweet voice 
which to his ear was ever music. He knew that 
if his suit had seemed presumptuous, or been felt 
to be unwelcome, she would have spoken to re- 
press him ; but she had not, and he was at liberty 
to indulge in the delightful consciousness of being 
accepted, he could almost add, of being loved in 
return. 

So encouraged, he ventured in still plainer terms 
to pour forth all the emotions of his heart, and to 
solicit that one rich reward which was to crown 
his happiness. He ceased, and heard, with inex- 
pressible pleasure, the soft, low, tremulous accents 
of assent. He received the confession, timid, but 
sincere and full, of corresponding attachment, and 
fervently kissed the hand that was henceforth to 
be ever his. 

Lacy lost no time in informing Mr. Morton of 
the happy result of his interview with Agnes; and 
had the pleasure of receiving that gentleman’s 
sanction and approval, and an assurance of the sa- 
tisfaction with which he should regard him as a 
son-in-law. He then, in obedience to his father’s 
wishes, proceeded candidly to lay before Mr. Mor- 
ton the extent of his expectations, his own and 
his father’s knowledge of the circumstance which 
would deprive Agnes of the greater part of her for- 
tune, and Sir William Lacy’s liberal avowal, that 
such a loss on the part of his son’s intended bride, 
would by no means militate against his consent. 
Mr. Morton suitably acknowledged the liberality 
of these sentiments, and expressed his wish that 
the friendship between the families, so lately esta- 
blished, and then so soon dismissed, might hence- 
forth never be disturbed. 

The time for the marriage was now to be fixed ; 
and here Mr. Morton pleaded for delay. He re- 


HERBERT LACY. 


243 


minded Lacy of the engagement from which Ag- 
nes had so lately been freed, and suggested the pro- 
priety of waiting at least beyond the time at which 
she was to have been united to Sackville; and to 
this suggestion Lacy’s delicacy forbade him to of- 
fer any opposition. Mr. Morton also hinted at 
the prudence of waiting till such a time as would 
secure to Agnes tl)^ benefit of her whole fortune; 
but as this term of probation would amount to four 
years, he did not strongly press its adoption. Nei- 
ther, if he had, would Lacy willingly have consent- 
ed. He had obtained the sentiments of Agnes, and 
knew that she would not seriously regret the loss 
of so great a portion of her fortune, but be satisfied 
and happy in sharing with him diminished wealth, 
and gratified by so strong a practical assurance of 
being sought on account of endowments more in- 
trinsic than those, of fortune. 

Of this assurance, more strong than words could 
convey, he vowed that nothing should deprive her. 
It was also a consolitory reflection to both of them, 
that the wealth of which they should be thus de- 
prived would not be lost to the family, or diverted 
to unworthy objects; but was to be divided among 
the brothers and sisters of Agnes: and this considera- 
tion confirmed them still more in their resolution 
not to allow the diminution of fortune to be any 
impediment to their union. 

Immediate information of the intended nuptials 
of Lacy and Agnes was sent to Mr. Hawksworth, 
with a request of his sanction, as guardian and 
trustee. It was also requested, that since Mr. Mor- 
ton had suspended all communication with Sack- 
ville, Mr. Ha wksworth would forward these tidings 
to him, and at the same time, desire to be informed 
whether it was Sackville’s final determination to 
give or to withhold his consent. It was hoped 
that Mr. Ha^vksworth would make this demand 
plainly, and without urgency or any appearance of 


244 


HERBERT LACY. 


entreating a favour for the Mortons, and that he 
would add, that the refusal of Sackville’s consent 
would make no change in the intentions of the 
other parties, or delay the marriage for a single 
day. 

This was accordingly done. The answer that 
Mr. Hawksworth received from Sackville was brief 
and unsatisfactory: without saj^ng that his consent 
should be either given or withheld, it expressed 
wonder at having been applied to, and a request 
that he might not be addressed again upon such a 
subject. It was equivalent to a refusal ; and Agnes 
was consequently compelled to look forward with 
resignation to the threatened forfeiture. 

The Mortons were now preparing for their in- 
tended departure to the Continent. The approa'ch- 
ing marriage of Agnes made no change in their 
plans. Lacy meant to follow them, and the mar- 
riage was to take place abroad, about the begin- 
ning of autumn. 

One day, about a week before the time fixed 
for their journey, Lacy received a letter from 
Sackville. It contained merely these words: 
give you my permission to open, in the presence 
of Mr. Morton, the letter which I deposited in 
your hands at our last meeting.” 

Lacy immediately availed himself of this inte- 
resting and at present inexplicable permission. He 
took the unopened letter to Mr. Morton, and after 
relating some of the attendant circumstances, broke 
the seal in his presence. 

Well was he rewarded for the strictness with 
which he had observed the conditions of Sackville, 
In the mysterious paper he read, with surprise, the 
following words: ‘‘ If the engagement of marriage, 
now subsisting between Mr. Lacy and Miss Hart- 
ley, should at any future time be dissolved, and 
Mr. Lacy should make an offer of marriage to Miss 
Morton, and be accepted by that lady, I, Edward 


HERBERT LACY. 


245 


Sackville, guardian and trustee of Miss Morton, do 
freely consent that such marriage may be solem- 
nized, and that Miss Morton shall be exempted 
from the forfeiture to be incurred, in case of my 
non-approval, under the will of the late Mrs. Den- 
ham.” 

Below were a few lines addressed to Lacy, and 
which ran as follows: ‘‘You will perhaps be sur- 
prised at my manner of conveying this consent; 
you shall therefore know my reasons. I cannot, 
with propriety, openly advert to that event, which 
may never happen, and which, at this present time, 
circumstances seem imperatively to forbid. But I 
am nevertheless desirous to show you, that this 
consent, the greatest sacrifice of my own feelings 
that I have ever yet had the power to make, is not 
wrung from me by entreaty, nor is the tardy result 
of long consideration; that it is given in the only 
manner truly worthy of such a boon, is given 
promptly and unasked. I require only one favour 
in return; that neither you nor any one whom this, 
my consent, can in any degree concern, will ever 
write to me on the subject. I do not know whe- 
ther I have merited thanks; but if I have, I do not 
want them. ” 

It is needless to expatiate upon the surprise and 
pleasure which this singular disclosure caused. The 
pleasure was lessened only by Sackville’s refusal to 
accept of thanks, and his uncompromising tone of 
sullen pride, which seemed to spurn at the bare 
thought of reconciliation. He was unworthy of 
being again received on terms of friendship: but 
true generosity is slow to scan the errors of one 
who has conferred a benefit, and finds enmity pain- 
ful even towards those whom it cannot esteem. 

Immediately after the foregoing discovery, Lacy 
wrote to his father, and enclosed the singular letter 
that conveyed it. He received from Sir William 
Lacy the following, soon afterwards, in reply: — 
21 * 


246 


HERBERT LACY. 


‘^My dear Herbert, 

I thank you for sending me, so speedily, tidings 
which you knew would give me pleasure. You 
have proved your disinterestedness to the heart’s 
content of all by whom you are known and es- 
teemed, as you deserve, and you may now take the 
gifts of fortune without a blush. The event has 
surprised me as little as any thing would that was 
equally unforeseen. Sackville’s consent was not to 
be expected; but the strange mysterious manner in 
which it was given, seems to me perfectly natural 
and characteristic. Your scoundrel generally pre- 
fers a theatrical mode of doing good. The plain, 
simple, easy course pursued by common-place, 
honest people, is much too humble for the man, who, 
as he seldom does a praiseworthy action, likes, when 
he does, to do it splendidly. I admire his proud 
refusal to accept your thanks — thanks for an act of 
common justice! He knows that they are not 
due. 

Do not think me ungrateful for speaking so se- 
verely of the man who saved your life. Such be- 
nefits would become injuries if they prevented us 
from estimating correctly the conduct and charac- 
ter of those who conferred them. The man who 
saves a thousand lives obtains no privilege to play 
the villain. Establish the principle of making good 
deeds excuse bad ones, and morality becomes little 
more than a system of truck and barter. No one 
would have much more to do than just to keep his 
virtue at par, and saints and sinners might respec- 
tively exchange their moral scrip, like the bulls and 
bears of the stock exchange. 

“Make a balance-sheet of good deeds, available 
in a court of justice, and contemplate the conse- 
quences. The Humane Society, on the credit of 
their resuscitations, might emulate with impunity, 
the noyades of the Loire; and the fireman, who 
had saved a house, could never be hanged for burn- 
ing one. 


HERBERT LACY. 


247 


In the case of yourself and Sackville, I con- 
ceive the balance to have been fully adjusted. He 
saved your life before you were his rival: but since 
he has seen you in that character he has shown al- 
most an equal disposition to take it. The return 
you owed him I conceive to have been paid. You 
refused to contest his claims and you have long per- 
sisted in thinking better of him than he deserved. 

“ Let me now turn to a more pleasing subject, 
the contemplation of your happy prospects. You 
are about to reap the reward of tried affection, and 
honourable self-denial, and to unite yourself to one 
who has proved that she is capable of something 
more than to flutter in the sunshine of prosperity: 
one who, though she can adorn society and enjoy 
its pleasures, has had the courage voluntarily to re- 
sign them : one who, through evil report and good 
report, if she dared not say she loved, at any rate 
esteemed you, and in the constancy of whose affec- 
tion you may now repose the firmest confidence. 

‘‘ You will soon become a husband, and your ac- 
tions will then be invested with a responsibility 
which they had not before. On this account, 
though I confess myself feebly qualified for the of- 
fice of a Mentor, yet, in my capacity of parent, let 
me give you my sentiments and advice. You will 
be placed above the necessity of a profession; but 
let not this circumstance render you inactive. Con- 
tinue in parliament, and attend strictly to its ho- 
nourable and important duties. Cultivate society 
— cultivate business. I do not ask you to make 
yourself a slave to either, or to indulge in visions 
of ambition. I merely point out a course which I 
consider to be most conducive to your respectabili- 
ty and happiness. 

‘‘ The life of truest happiness is a life of occupa- 
tion. I have acquired some right to say so, by hav- 
ing experienced the fallacy of its reverse. I do not 
mean that I have been unhappy. Were I to say 


248 


HERBERT LACV. 


SO, I should be very ungrateful for numerous bless- 
ings. I have had a large share of all that is held 
to constitute the materials of happiness; and none 
perhaps can have passed through life with fewer 
crosses. But it is on this account I speak. It is 
in reviewing my advantages that I am made sensi- 
ble that I have not been so happy as I ought to 
have been; and loaded as I am with benefits, I can 
estimate with greater accuracy the little that was 
wanting to complete the sum of my felicity. 

I know that I wanted occupation, and an ob- 
ject. I had neither a prospect to interest me, nor 
a gratifying retrospect: all was centred in the pre- 
sent. I set out with the advantages of good fami- 
ly, respectable station, ample fortune, and, I will 
add, no mean abilities. The three former I retain, 
but what use have I made of the latter.^ None, — I 
grieve to say it — none. Indolence and fastidious- 
ness have prevented me. Cursed with a sensitive 
delicacy, and a hatred of exertion, I always quick- 
ly discovered something coarse, mean, or revolt- 
ing in every thing that I had a disinclination to do. 
The paths to Parliament were miry; office, a state 
of corruption; all business brings one into contact 
with rogues; and even the exertions which society 
demands may be reprobated as subserviency and 
cringing. 

I cared for nothing, and would do nothing. I 
was and-would be independent — and independence 
has a flattering sound. It is the noblest, safest plea 
that was ever made for absence of exertion, and 
deserves to be engraved on the most towering pin- 
nacle of the castle of indolence. I would not 
press, and labour, and elbow, and truckle: I would 
look with calm superiority on the distant turmoil, 
and enjoy the charms of literary leisure. Litera- 
ry leisure! Choice and beautiful phrase! Its very 
alliteration is sweet and seductive. But call it by 
its true name, literary idleness, and how much of 


HERBERT LACY. 


249 


its fancied dignity is lost! Yet such was mine; and 
I can remember to have regarded exertion in that 
walk as a degrading drudgery. It is easy to wrap 
one’s self up in fancied importance, and say, < my 
mind to me a kingdom is.’ Yes, such a king I 
was, but it was a ‘ Roy faineant a sort of rural 
Sardanapalus in my petty territory. 

‘^Believe me when I say, that I now look back 
with pain on all that I have neglected to do. 1 
have promoted no great or useful object — have 
connected my name with no interesting event — 
have written nothing — have spoken nothing — have 
impressed on no one the belief that I have those 
talents which I am really conscious of possessing. 
I write this, not in mortified pride, but in humble 
regret; not with the hope of a complimentary re- 
futation, but with the worthier hope of affording 
a useful warning to you. 

‘‘ Having spoken so freely of myself, I may say 
a little about your future father-in-law, and bid you 
draw other warnings from him. Morton and my- 
self have been two opposites, between whose dif- 
ferent lines of conduct I counsel you to pursue a 
middle course. I have sacrificed too little for so- 
ciety: he has sacrificed too much. Though I am 
sorry for his misfortunes, I have some consolation 
in thinking that the consequences of his extreme 
have been by far the most serious. But, on the 
other hand, I am bound to consider that the mis- 
employed advantages were much greater on my 
side. We had both of us sufficient fortune; but he 
is of low extraction, and I of ancient descent. In 
me, perhaps, the consciousness of birth has en- 
couraged an indolent security ; in him the want of 
it has led to the ruinous substitute of lavish osten- 
tation. 

I may probably, be inclined to overrate the 
consequences of birth and station; but they have, 
at least, this advantage, that they are the pledges of 


250 


HERBERT LACY. 


honourable conduct, and afford to pride a less sor- 
did aliment than money. Wealth, if viewed as 
the chief source and ground-work of distinction, 
must infallibly narrow the mind of its possessor. 
The purse-proud man is generally allowed to be 
the least endurable of coxcombs. He is content 
with none but conspicuous points of superiority, 
and will often secretly descend to meanness, from 
which an ancient lineage would have saved him. I 
conceive Morton to be naturally a generous, ho- 
nourable, high-minded man. Some points of his 
conduct have evinced it. But the want of high -de- 
scent to serve as a fulcrum to his ambition of fash- 
ionable distinction — his restless sense of insecurity 
— his feverish struggle for an eminence which he 
was to gain, partly by manoeuvring and cringing, 
partly by means of a lavish expenditure — all this 
has debased an honourable mind, and led him 
through a long train of secret humiliation to one 
that was signal and decisive. 

I once did him less than justice; for, I will own, 
that I felt a secret jealousy of his success, which 
jealousy has since been extinguished by his fall. It 
shocked my aristocratical prejudices to perceive 
that a man, with less ostensible pretensions, was 
more courted than myself; and those prejudices 
were fostered by seclusion. But I have learned to 
shake off some portion of my former exclusiveness, 
and to applaud the liberal spirit of these times, 
which presents no insurmountable barrier to any 
species of ambition. 

Let me now congratulate you, my dear Her- 
bert, on having escaped unhurt from the treachery 
and artifice by which you have been assailed. Let 
not your trials tend to give you a worse opinion of 
human nature; let them not weaken your honour- 
able confidence and freedom from suspicion. You 
have pursued a straight and manly course, and it 
has led you to your safety. While knaves are run- 


HERBERT LACY. 


251 


lung each other; by the vile acts which helped to 
raise them, the honest object of their mutual at- 
tack walks through unhurt and unsuspecting. But 
were it otherwise, were it necessary to repel the 

iT'*^ ***®''’ weapons, ratherf I will 
say, than have recourse to the dirty task of counter- 

M T"® be libelled and deceived, 

and be able to exclaim, like another Francis, < All 
IS lost except our honour.^ 

“ I will say no more, for I seem to have given 
you too long a lecture, when I consider how little 
you need it. 

“ And now, my dear Herbert, farewell, and with 
every heartfelt wish for the happiness of yourself 
and your intended bride, 

“ Believe me, ever your most affectionate fa- 

Lacy.’^ 


the end. 








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